A King's Duty
by mckeown
Summary: The dragon Smaug has been awoken, and Laketown is on fire. Despite Thranduil's memories he knows he cannot sit idly by, he must defend Laketown. In the burning town, Bain tries to save his father but is in desperate need of aid. Bard must step into the undesired role of leading a destitute people. For some kings their duty is clear, others must find their way with help. 13,000 HITS
1. Chapter 1

**AN: My first Hobbit fic, please be courteous. This story will have aspects of the book and movie, as well as having my own take on things.**

**Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own the **_**Hobbit**_**. **

Thranduil had been angry when the dwarves had escapes, yet it anyone had asked him at whom his anger was directed at more the elvish king would not have had a ready answer. Was he angrier at the fact that the dwarves had escaped? Or was he angry at the fact that his jailor had been incompetent enough to get drunk when he was supposed to be guarding prisoners? Perhaps the king's anger stemmed more from the issue that not only had it been dwarves who had escaped, but that thirteen people had managed to get out of their cells without any of their guards being the wiser. When word of this spread, and it would, of that Thranduil had no doubt, he would be the laughing stock of the other elven realms. Yes, Thranduil reflected, it was probably that fact alone which made him so angry, yet he did feel a twinge of disappointment in himself for not being able to sway the dwarves from their cause.

Of course he had known what the dwarves were about, Thranduil was not an idiot after all. He had merely asked out of common courtesy, but the elvish king had not been ignorant by any means of what the company had been about. Thranduil had recognized Thorin Oakenshield at once, and had known that the dwarves could have been bound for only place, Erebor. Most likely their goal was to check and see if the rumors were true. The dragon Smaug had not been seen for some time, making many think that perhaps he was dead, but not the elves of Mirkwood. Thranduil knew all too well how dragons could sleep amidst their horde and not emerge for decades at a time. The dwarves would enter the mountain, and lacking any sense of stealth they would inevitably awaken the dragon. Smaug would consume everyone and everything in fire once again.

The king of Mirkwood knew that dragons did not take kindly to having their slumber disturbed. He snorted mentally as he picked up his wine glass. Smaug's wrath would not be sated with the deaths of the dwarves, no, the whole region would go up in flame and more than that perhaps. The dragon would no doubt light the once enchanted Greenwood on fire, but first Laketown would fall.

All of this Thranduil thought over and knew, and so he sent sentries out to keep watch on the floating town of men and the lonely mountain. When Smaug awoke the men would have very little time to flee before the dragon descended on them, so the king had wagons and soldiers prepared. He would not move out until he received word, until he knew for certain that the red worm had been seen once again.

The elvish king did not have to wait long, a few days at most, before one of his sentries returned in great haste. "My king, Smaug has been awakened and when we saw that he was flying towards Laketown I was sent to bring you word. Before I reached the forest I glanced behind and saw that the night sky was red. Laketown is burning, my king."

No emotion showed on Thranduil's face, he had had years to perfect control over himself, but his heart was heavy. He could remember the heat from a dragon's fiery breath as it burned the side of his face, he could still hear the anguished screams coming from his own throat, the smell of burnt flesh still lingered about him. King Thranduil, son of Oropher, had no desire to be near such devastation again, nor see or smell the charred corpses that were always left behind in the wake of an angered dragon. Yet he must act.

Thranduil was a king, and a king always protected and looked after his people. Even though Men inhabited Laketown, Thranduil had always thought of them as his subjects, even though he rarely deigned them with a visit. His warriors had protected town on the lake from roaming bands of goblins for years, and he made sure to always have his wine and other goods delivered by the river route so that the Men would have business and honest work. Since the fall of Dale, Thranduil had made it his duty to see to the continued existence of Laketown, most of which was unknown to the Men of course.

"Ready my steed and lower the drawbridge," Thranduil stood from his throne, looking as regal and undisturbed as only a great king could. "We make our way swiftly to Laketown's defense."

**AN: So what do you think? Should I continue? Do you see promise?**


	2. Chapter 2

Bain came to with a groan, feeling cold and hot at the same time. His head ached and as he inhaled his lungs took in the smoky air that made him cough. Blearily lifting his head, Bain glanced around and realized that half of his body was in the freezing water while the upper half lay on a broken walkway next to a burning building. Most of the buildings around him were on fire, the wood proving to be excellent fuel for the flames Smaug had bellowed forth on the town. The air was heavy with smoke, making Bain's eyes water and breathing in every time resulted in him coughing without relief.

Pulling himself up to his feet, Bain stumbled on the loose boards and shook from his exposure to the cold water. The sudden heat on his wet legs left him chilled and Bain knew he had to get into dry clothes but first the boy had to find his father. He had no need to try and remember what had happened, for the memory was all too clear in his mind.

The legendary dragon Smaug had emerged from the ruins of Erebor and had unleashed fire upon the poor inhabitants of Lake-town. The people, caught unawares, had been thrown into disarray, trying to flee the angered dragon for some it was in vain. Bain had put his sisters in a boat, rowed by the elf captain Tauriel, and then he had run for the black arrow. In one of the towers the boy had seen his father, Bard, firing ordinary arrows to no avail and so Bain knew he had to act quickly. The run through the screaming, burning streets was a blur, Bain could not recall anything more than the climb up the tower and handing his father the black arrow.

Smaug was dead now, his great body still sinking to the dark, cold depths of the lake. In the dragon's fall, his tail had hit the tower, shattering the supports and Bard had thrown Bain clear as the building fell. Bain remembered falling into the water and striking his head on something hard before darkness had claimed him

The boy held onto a post to keep from swaying as he reached to the back of his head with one hand. The injured spot was tender to the touch but thankfully there was no blood. Bain looked about him once more, this time searching for his father but there was no sign of the man. "Papa?"

Bain could see the remnants of the tower; the current must have carried him away before the broken causeway snagged him since the boy was a little ways from the ruined building. Bain carefully made his way to the tower, calling out for his father and pausing whenever he felt dizzy, which was often. Coming to the tower's base, Bain was dismayed when he could not see his father anywhere amongst the debris.

"Papa?" Bain squinted at the dark wood lying about, trying hard not to cry or panic but the tears did not heed his struggle. They tracked down his cheeks, leaving visible trails on his otherwise dirty face. "Papa!"

Angrily, Bain wiped at his face, smearing ash and tears and the mixture irritated his eyes until they were red and tearing even more. He could not give up, even though the town burned down around him, Bain would not leave until he had found his father. The man would never have left one of his children behind, so Bain was not about to give up even though his lungs ached for a breath of clean air.

"Papa!" A last desperate shout, the only one Bain felt sure he would be able to give with the way his chest hurt. He most likely had bruised his ribs during the fall from the tower, but would not know for sure until he had a chance to have them examined. That could wait though, so could the blackness creeping into his vision, he had to find his father before they both were consumed by the fire.

The roaring of the flames nearly drowned out the answering sound to the boy's cry, a groan of pain that emerged from beneath some fallen timbers. Bain wasted no time in pulling the wood away, ignoring the heat from the half burnt logs that blistered his skin. Finally he was able to see his father, a beam pinned down the bargeman over his chest and another was on his legs.

"Papa?" Bard's eyelids fluttered slightly, but he made no other sign of movement. Bain tried to move the wood from across his father's chest but both its ends were weighed down by rubble. The skinny fourteen-year-old's hands were an angry red by the time he admitted defeat and ceased struggling with the beam. Many of the blisters on his palms had burst, bringing a stinging pain as well as weeping fluid from the opened wounds. Crying freely now, Bain collapsed next to his father and gently lifted Bard's head onto his lap. "Papa, please."

There was blood on the back of Bard's head, and Bain could feel it soaking into his pant leg. Frightened, Bain raised his head and looked around, seeking aid yet seeing no one in sight. Was this it then? Were they to die amid this burning town? Bain knew that if he left he could get out before the fire reached him, but he would not leave his father, not now when he had found him. Bain could only hope that his sisters had made it safely to shore and had not made any foolhardy attempts to come after him.

Bain was not sure how long he leaned against the wood, holding his father's head up, but suddenly he could hear something else besides the crackling fire or the lapping of the water. Voices were calling out in the distance, Bain was sure that he was actually hearing voices and that his imagination was not playing tricks on him. There were people close by, probably in the next street over, looking for survivors no doubt. Feeling hopeful, the boy raised his own voice to cry out for help.

It took a few tries, his voice cracking from how dry his throat was but Bain kept yelling, coughing in between shouts until he was quite red in the face. He was not sure he had been heard until his tired eyes caught movement silhouetted against the burning buildings. The hope that had been a tiny spark in his chest, now swelled within his chest till he was nearly dizzy in relief. There were people here, they were coming towards him and Bain laid his aching head against a nearby log as he watched them approach.

When the figures got close enough to see, Bain drowsily thought that he must have hit his head harder than he had originally thought. How else could he be seeing elves coming towards him in the burning town of Men?


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited and followed!**

"_**Italics**_**" means spoken in Elvish. **

Nearing Lake-town, Thranduil had known that something was not right. The fact that there was no dragon in the sky might have been the cause of that feeling, for it indeed was very worrisome. Had Smaug left to rain fire down on Mirkwood? But no, that could not be the case as the king had not heard the thunderous clap of wings or the dragon's roar, both telling signs that a giant wyrm was on the way. So where had Smaug gone?

Seeing the survivors of the still burning town, Thranduil dispatched his army along the shoreline to lend aid. In the blink of an eye, the elvish army had sheathed their weapons and drawn out their medical supplies to help those who were injured. Some of the Men had already begun building fires and erecting shelters, but Thranduil put a stop to that. This was no place to set up camp; the shore was too open and not easily defensible. Should someone attack them they would be trapped against the lake with not enough boats to transport everyone safely away.

It did not take the wizened king long to determine where to move the refugees. The ruins of Dale would serve as good location for Men of Lake-town, and the irony of the situation was not lost on Thranduil. Years ago the survivors of Dale had fled to Lake-town to escape the destructing fires caused by Smaug, and now the reversal was in affect.

The city of Dale would be defensible, as its stone walls were still standing, and the Men would not have to start from scratch when it came to preparing shelters for the coming winter. His decision made, Thranduil gave the necessary orders to have the survivors moved across the lake, and any means of transportation was to be procured.

While boats, barges and ferries were brought to the shore and loaded with those ready to travel, Thranduil asked around for news of the dragon.

"Smaug is dead!"  
"I saw him fall from the sky into the middle of the town."

"The dragon is slain!"

Smaug was dead. Never before had Thranduil heard three words that could have brought him such a swift sense of relief as these did. The dragon was gone; his carcass was sinking into the depths of the lake, and most likely would never be seen again, not for several generations of Man anyway.

Who did this? How did the dragon fall? What warrior of this mortal race had dared to take on the legendary Smaug?

"It was a bargeman named Bard, your majesty."

"Bard slew the dragon!"  
"I saw him standing on top of one of the towers and he fired several arrows at Smaug, the last one pierced the dragon's chest."

The man was not unknown to the elf king, though Thranduil had not seen him for twenty years at least. He remembered the day very clearly; the old bargeman had brought his replacement to the elvish kingdom, a simple formality of introducing the next bargeman so that the elf sentries would know him. Thranduil had known that Bard, standing slightly unsure but nevertheless minding his tongue and meeting the elf king's eyes, was a descendant of Girion. The resemblance was there, as the Lord of Dale's youngest son had survived the carnage and kept alive his father's line.

Thranduil had always kept an ear out for news of Girion's descendants, noting who married whom and what children were born. Had anyone asked why he did so, the elf king would have been a little pressed to give a detached answer. Of his neighbors, Thranduil had always gotten along with the Lords of Dale, finding them a noble, and humble line of Men who ruled justly and were little troubled by the wealth of Erebor. It could be that he had kept trade with Lake-town, despite the corruption of some of the Masters, because Girion's line resided there. Keeping an eye on a fallen ruler's descendants to ensure their survival, mayhap. Perhaps, out of difference to the friendship he had had with Girion, and his ancestors, Thranduil had secretly hoped that one day an heir to that line would be able to reclaim his birthright of the Lord of Dale. However, since no one asked the elvish king he was able to keep these thoughts private and act indifferent with no one the wiser. But now Thranduil sensed that this Bard, if he had survived, would now have the chance to rule Dale as his ancestors had in days of old, having surely redeemed Girion's failure in the eyes of Men by finishing what the last lord had started.

Whilst passing the burning town on their way to the opposite shore, Thranduil dispatched squadrons of elves on one of the still intact piers. The screams of burning victims, and cries for aid could be heard over the roar of the flames, and the king hoped that his warriors would be able to reach those who could be saved before the town sunk.

Somehow upon reaching the shore, Thranduil found himself holding a five-year-old boy. The haste in unloading the boats so that they could be taken back to pick up the rest of the Lake-towners had been slightly hectic, and the small lad had almost knocked over by a stretcher. The brown eyes, upon seeing the burnt man being carried off, started to fill with tears and before Thranduil had known what was happening the boy was in his arms. A quick question on where his parents were yielded no answers, and that was when the king became aware of the other voices calling out amid the survivors, children seeking their parents, and men and women calling for their offspring.

"_Gilion, have my tent pitched in the plaza of the old market and have all the children whose parents are not present brought there, anyone seeking their child is to be sent to the market_."

The elves were swift, and before long many tents were set up amid the ruins of Dale. Two tents were devoted to the healers and injured, while others were places where food and blankets could be obtained. Those Men with families who could walk were directed to search out the housing units around Dale and find stable shelter for their wife and children. At Thranduil's tent a warrior tried to record all the names of the children who had become separated from their parents, but he ran into some difficulties with the younger children who were too frightened to respond or too young to form the words.

Thranduil was coming back to his tent after seeing to the fair distribution of the supplies when he saw Tauriel brining two girls towards his tent. She saw his approach and gently pushed the girls towards the tent's entrance, turning to meet him with a bow. The girls hesitated, the older one perhaps seventeen and the younger about seven if Thranduil was any expert at determining the age of mortals.

"_They worry for you_," Thranduil said, indicating to Tauriel that her charges had not entered the tent but were looking back at them with some sign of trepidation, the elder hid her concern very well but the younger's eyes were wide and fearful.

Tauriel glanced back and smiled, nodding with her head that all was well, and the older girl nudged the other into the tent. "They have been separated from their father and brother, and as I have been with them for several hours they are no doubt afraid to see me go as well. The youngest, Tilda, clung to me as I rowed them out of the town, Sigrid did her best to be strong and help others, but I could see her fear as well."

"_What were you doing in the town, captain_?" Thranduil questioned, preferring to stay outside as he could tell from the sounds that his tent was a bit crowded at the moment. "_I thought you and Legolas had taken a contingent to deal with a nest of spiders?"_

Tauriel bowed, "_Your pardon, my king, we did do that but while we were heading towards the nest we came upon a trail left by orcs. From what we could tell they were headed towards the river, possibly towards Lake-town, and so Legolas ordered the other warriors to proceed towards the nest, while he and I followed the orcs_." Thranduil processed that, it was exactly the kind of thing Legolas would do, he nodded for Tauriel to continue, "_By the time we reached the river there had been an altercation between the orcs and we believe the dwarves who escaped from your dungeons, my lord_." Thranduil narrowed his eyes at that, and Tauriel averted her eyes slightly but he could sworn he had seen a hint of amusement in them, "_We followed the trail, as the orcs had drawn off after fighting with the dwarves and then they came to Lake-town, we could just see them disappearing through the gates at the end of the bridge. We followed and found the guards had been slain, but luckily it was nightfall and not many Men were stirring out of doors or else they would have met the same fate. We found the orcs attacking one house, where four dwarves had taken shelter and that's where I met Sigrid, Tilda and their brother Bain_."

Thranduil froze, his memory, always sharp and impeccable, latched onto to those names and in a moment he knew their lineage. "_The children of Bard, the Dragonslayer_."

Tauriel blinked, obviously surprised and Thranduil hid a smirk. "_Yes, King Thranduil, the very ones. Legolas and I fought off the orcs, and he gave pursuit when the last few fled. I was about to follow when Tilda asked me if I could heal the injured dwarf. The youngest one, the archer, had been hit with a poisoned arrow and was succumbing it. Some athelas was found and I was able to cure him. Once again I was about to leave the house when I heard the roar of Smaug, and I aided the children and the dwarves into a boat and rowed them out." _The weariness was apparent in his captain, and once before Thranduil had seen that dazed look in Tauriel's face, when he had lifted her from where she had been clinging to the dead bodies of her parents, "_Bain entrusted me with his sisters' care, begging me to get them out, and then he ran off, presumably to aid his father_."

"_The dwarves_," Thranduil turned to look about the camp, "_what became of them?" _

"_I last saw them in one of the boats coming over, they were aiding the young one and a few injured children_."

Before Thranduil could give any orders regarding the dwarves a cry went out among the Men, carrying up from the shore and being picked up and passed on by all who heard it.

"It is Bard! They have found Bard! The Dragonslayer lives!"


	4. Chapter 4

Bain cradled his father's head as the boat swayed from side to side, despite the vessel being filled to the brim with passengers the boy did not think it would sink or capsize. The two elves paddling and steering showed no signs of distress, and Bain was sure that if the boat were about to tip over the two warriors would be the first to know. He looked down at his still unconscious father, hoping the man's wounds were not more serious then the elves had let on.

When the elf up front jumped put Bain realized they had reached the shore and the Men wasted no time in getting out, as the boat would be needed to go back. Thankfully there were stretchers nearby, looking as if they had been newly made, and Bain helped his father be loaded upon one but as much as he wanted to he could take one end of the stretcher, so he resigned himself to walking beside it. His hands were an angry red, covered with ash that made the opened blisters and scorched skin sting almost as bad as if he had been stung a thousand times by bees. Despite the pain though, Bain had done his best to hide his injuries, and hoped that the elves would believe the tears gathering in his eyes were from the smoke and not because of his wounds.

Before they had reached the old gate of the city of Dale, the small group was met by a tall, blond elf who bore a resemblance to Tauriel's companion when they had defended Bard's home from orcs. Tauriel herself was beside the regal elf, and Bain nearly choked on the gasp that fell from his lips when the elves around him bowed. This was the elven king, a being Bain had only heard about in stories and had never thought to meet.

Bain watched as the elven king talked with a few of his warriors before moving to the stretcher that bore the boy's father. Blue eyes pierced Bain and he fought to keep his head up and not shy away from the contact. Whatever the elf king was searching for he must have found, if the slight nod he gave Bain was any indication.

"Take Lord Bard to my tent, a healer will attend him there." The king spoke loud enough for those gathered around, and Bain could hear the people of Lake-town whisper how it was only fair that Bard should be treated thus, after all he had done for them. Bain started to follow the stretcher when a hand on his shoulder stopped him and he looked up into the eyes of the elven king once again. "Where are you hurt, son of Bard?"

Bain was startled, beyond surprised that not only did the elf king know he was hurt and ask him about his injuries but Thranduil knew his parentage as well. Feeling indebted to the elves and knowing that his father would receive medical attention soon, Bain turned his hands over to show the king his burnt palms. Gentle but firm hands took ahold of his, light blue eyes examining the skin with an experienced look and before Bain knew it he was being led away by the king himself.

"Come, the healer tents are very nearly full but we shall find a place to tend to your injuries, young one."

Bain was too shocked to protest, and utterly dumbfounded that an actual king was tending to him. The boy's head swam, most likely from the blow he had received when falling from the tower, and he hoped he was not going to faint in the elf king's arms. That would be beyond humiliating.

Thankfully, Bain did not faint but he was, nevertheless, very relieved to finally sit down on a cot in the healer's tent. The elf king left him to fetch a healer, the boy supposed and he looked about the crowded area. Practically every cot was filled, and Bain averted his eyes when he saw the injuries that other men and women had. Compared to them, his red hands were nothing to complain about and he remembered the many others on their way to Dale who were injured. They would each need a place to rest and an elf healer to see to them, he should not be taking up room in this tent when there would be many who would need his spot far more than he did.

He got up to leave but a voice kept him from going too far, "Where are you going, son of Bard?"

"Bain, my name is Bain." The boy looked up at the elf king, hoping he did not sound belligerent or ungrateful. "I am making room, your majesty." When the elf tilted his head, one eyebrow raising in inquiry the boy went on to explain, "There are others coming who are more injured than I am, they will have greater need of a cot than I do."

The king's lip twitched, as if he were fighting a smile, "I can assure you, young Bain, that no one will want for anything. All the injured will be tended to and there will be enough room for everyone." Bain made to protest but was seated once again before any words could escape. "Now, let us see to your hands."

Amazed, Bain sat in silence as the mighty elf king washed away the blood and ash from the boy's hands. He winced a bit, but the fact that the king would be healing his hands seemed to numb him to the pain. A salve was spread over his palms, it was cool and soothing and light bandages were wound loosely around the aching hands.

A firm hand on Bain's shoulder pushed him to lie down, and his tired eyes drifted shut. "Sleep, young Bain, you have done enough for your family and your people for one day."

Thranduil straightened up after pulling a blanket over the boy's shivering body. He was sure that Bain, son of Bard, had been unaware of how much he had been shaking, which could either be attributed to shock or that streak of stubbornness the race of Men were renowned for. The king's lips twitched again in remembrance of the boy's valiant, and foolish, effort to sacrifice his own comfort for those who deemed more injured than himself.

The king turned away, heading for the exit, mentally snorting. As if such an action would be necessary for any of the Lake-towners or his own people to make. No one would be turned away, and if meant he would have build cots with his own hands or sew blankets just to make sure everyone would be taken care of then he would do it.

"_King Thranduil_," the elf king turned to see one of his captains approaching.

"_What is it_, _Hilad_?"

"_My king, we found four dwarves trying to slip away amid the confusion, we were able to stop them but they are demanding that we release them_."

It was only the years of experience that Thranduil had that prevented him from sneering at the mention of the dwarves. Since Thror had refused to return his queen's necklace the relationship between the elf and dwarf kingdoms had been strained, and the coming of Smaug had certainly not helped matters. But these dwarves were not Thror, nor did he think either of them would be Thorin, so at the very least they did not deserve the condemnation that he had shown their leader. Not yet anyway.

"_When the Lakemen saw the dwarves they nearly set upon, shouting for retribution. Were it not for my warriors I believe the dwarves would have been killed, I came for you as quickly as I could, my lord, for I fear even elf blades will not deter these homeless people for long_."

Thranduil well believed that, even though he sighed at the complication. He did not blame the Lakemen being incensed, they had no doubt offered aid to Thorin's company with promises of being given a share of the mountain's treasure and now they had lost their homes and loved ones to a wakened dragon's wrath. The elf king knew that this would not be the last time he would have to sort out such problems, there were bound to be more once the people recovered, right now the majority of them were too injured or tired to worry about anything else at the moment.

"_Lead me to them_."

The situation was as Thranduil had pictured it; one had not required much of an imagination to know what the situation would look like. The four dwarves were surrounded by ten elves, who in turn were facing an angry crowd of men and women, who for now were restraining themselves to yelling at the dwarves for at the moment they still retained enough of their wits to properly fear the elven warriors' weapons. That all could change if either group made a wrong move.

"Good people," Thranduil's voice cut through the tension, capturing everyone's attention and he was pleased to see that awe replaced much of the anger that currently possessed many of the Lake-town people. "Go tend to your families and friends who need care, I know there are many who need hot meals to stave off the effects of the cold lake and wood for the fires must be fetched. I will see to the dwarves."

"Mighty King Thranduil," the voice made Thranduil straighten, if that were possible since his back was already perfectly straight, and when he saw the sallow faced man step out towards him the king's eyes narrowed. These types of men he had met before, and a stony mask slid over his face. "These dwarves came to our town and roused us with their foolish words, promising us gold for giving them provisions and look at what they have done to us."

"They woke the dragon!" Someone shouted.

"My husband burned trying to save us!" A woman from the back yelled and soon over cries of loss and pain rang through the air but they quieted when Thranduil raised his hand.

"All of this will be addressed when Lord Bard awakes and we will go to the mountain to settle our mutual scores with Thorin Oakenshield, or any of his heirs who are yet living. Until then, good people," Thranduil was sure that only a small amount of the men and women in the crowd were actually good, the rest looked like followers of the sallow-faced man, "we will rest and heal. There are many who are in want of comfort and every able-bodied man should be working on finding what shelter they can for winter will be upon us in a few weeks and housing will be needed for everyone. Go do what you can to help those who are injured, and leave this matter in my capable hands."

The crowd dispersed for the most part, those who Thranduil had pegged as being followers of the sallow-faced man lingered about and their efforts to try to appear discreet were laughable.

"If I may be of assistance, mighty king, please do not hesitate to ask for me. I know most of the people and I can take charge of who should be housed first and…"

The man trailed off as Thranduil's eyes normally light blue eyes darkened. "I suppose such a man of self-importance as yourself has a name?"

"Alfrid Lickspittle, your majesty," the man made a sweeping bow, which Thranduil was not sure, simply by how it was delivered, if it was sincere or mocking. "I was aide to the former Master of Lake-town, and I count myself lucky to escape the fate that befell him."

The man smiled, revealing teeth that were in such a deplorable state it made Thranduil cringe, "How fortunate indeed. Well, Alfrid _who licks the spittle_," his warriors barely kept themselves from laughing while the man Alfrid preened at having something elfish attached to his name, "since you are experienced in aiding others I assign you to fetching clean water for the healers' tents, they will have great need of keeping a supply of clean water for the treating the wounded." Thranduil smiled at the look of disbelief on the man's face, "I am sure I could not trust such an important task to anyone else. Tinol," Thranduil beckoned one of the warriors who was standing guard over the dwarves, "escort this man to the healers' and inform them of his duty, we would not want him to lose his way after all."

"Yes, my king."

Tinol took ahold of Alfrid's upper arm and marched him away, the men who had hung around disappeared, most likely to escape being assigned tasks themselves. Thranduil allowed himself to feel a moment of satisfaction before he turned to the dwarves and assessed them. He identified the youngest two quickly, at least that they were closely related to Thorin Oakenshield but their names were currently unknown to him. The black haired dwarf he recognized from Tauriel's description, as the one who had been wounded by an orc's poisoned arrow and who she had healed. Her minor healing abilities seemed to have at least gotten rid of the poison but by the way the young dwarf was leaning against the only blonde in the group, Thranduil assessed that his leg was still causing him some pain.

"Your four were left behind while Thorin Oakenshield led the rest of his company to Erebor." The dwarves said nothing, but they did not have to. "Three of you will be allowed to go to the mountain and discover what has happened to your kinsmen. If Thorin Oakenshield still lives remind him of the promise he made these unfortunate people, and how it is best to keep friendly neighbors rather than enemies so close to your borders. I want the necklace of starlight gems returned to me, as it is rightfully mine, but other than that I want nothing else from the mountain save your continued friendship with the rising city of Dale. Pass that message onto Thorin, and if he be not living then I hold his next of kin responsible for upholding the honor of the line of Durin."

"Three of us," the dwarf with the hat whispered.

Thranduil smiled, "The fourth shall remain here," his eyes fell on the dwarf archer, "so that his injuries may finish healing and that his presence will reassure the people of Lake-town that the dwarves will not go back on their word."

"No!" The blonde dwarf protested, his arms pulling his brother protectively to his side.

"This is not negotiable," Thranduil said, "and you would be sadly mistaken of you thought you had a say in this matter, nephew of Thorin. Tell Oakenshield that if he wishes to have his youngest nephew returned he will honor his agreement with Lord Bard, the Dragonslayer and he will return my property." Thranduil's eyes turned to steel, "I suggest you leave now, ere I take a host of warriors to deliver the message myself."

There was nothing they could do, and they knew it. The younger nephew of Thorin assured his companions that he would be all right, and that they needed to find out what had happened to in the mountain. Finally, the older dwarf and the one with the hat were able to pull the blonde dwarf away and they were escorted outside the town's walls.

"Hilad," Thranduil spoke to his captain, using the common tongue so that the remaining dwarf would understand. "Take the young prince to the healers' tent, and post a guard on him."

The elf king turned but the dwarf's voice stopped him, "I will not run, King Thranduil, and you have my word on that." He hobbled over to where Hilad stood, "I would not get very far even if I did try."

Before Thranduil could respond an elf warrior came running down the street, "_My King Thranduil, Lord Bard has awoken_!"  
_It is about time_, Thranduil thought, but he said nothing as he turned and followed the messenger back the way he had come.

**AN: So, what do you guys think?**

**AN: There will be no Tauriel/Kili, because I didn't think it developed well in the movies and it wouldn't have worked either way. But what do my readers think of Tauriel/Bard? **


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Sorry for the wait, had three family members go into the ER two week ago, all for different reasons. It was crazy. **

When Bard awoke he felt as though he had been run over by his own barge, repeatedly. The man shifted and groaned, so this was what falling from a tower felt like. He gazed up at the tent overhead, simply content to lie still for a bit, after all, he could not remember the last time he had been in a bed this soft or wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets had made him feel warmer than his own had ever been.

It took a moment, a very long moment, for Bard to realize that he should not be lying in a comfortable bed or looking up at a canopied ceiling that was made out of material no one in Lake-town could afford but the rich merchants and the master. Where was he? He could smell healing herbs and the tight bandage around his ribcage. Something warm was pressed to his uninjured side and Bard tilted his head to see Tilda soundly sleeping. Relief flooded through him at seeing that his youngest was safe, and Bard quickly looked her over for injuries but there were none. Hearing a body shift to his right, the bargeman turned and saw Sigrid, curled up with a blanket in a chair, also sleeping.

He relaxed, knowing he could not be anywhere too dangerous if his daughters were here with him. Bard could remember everything that had happened leading up to the destruction of the tower, thanks to Smaug's tail hitting it as the dragon fell upon the town. He remembered pushing Bain out of the way, and then losing his own footing as the tower buckled beneath him.

Bain! Bard pushed himself to sit up, looking around the small area for any sign of his son, but there was none. Despite the warm blankets, Bard felt a cold bolt of fear surge within him, and he carefully got up from the bed so as not to disturb Tilda. Once on his feet, Bard's vision blurred for a moment but he did steadied himself until it cleared. That was when he noticed the clean shirt lying at the end of the bed, and Bard realized that the trousers he was wearing were not his own. Having seen enough of elves the many times he had gone up and down the river, Bard recognized the elven design in the shirt and suddenly the trappings about the tent made a lot more sense.

What were the elves doing here? Where was here? Had King Thranduil come himself to the aid of the Lake-town? Why?

Important though those questions were, Bard cared little for the answers since finding Bain was much more important. The man pulled aside the partition and stepped into the main part of the tent, which was much larger than he thought. He nearly stepped on a slumbering child; in fact the floor was covered with them. Each child, their age varying, was wrapped up in a blanket and using his or her neighbor as a pillow. There were lit braziers about the tent, giving off a welcoming heat but Bard could see a cold mist through the crack of the tent's entrance, barely being held at bay. Stepping lightly, Bard made his way to the exit, ignoring the ache in his ribs and the throbbing in his leg, which had not made itself known until he had started walking. He pulled aside the flap and was equally as startled to see the two elf guards, as they were to see him. Had Bard not been in pain, and so anxious to find his son, he might have been proud of the fact that he had caught elves off guard.

"My Lord Bard," one elf said, "if you will wait here I shall find King Thranduil and tell him you have awoken."

The elf left before Bard could say anything and the high handedness in which he had been spoken over, never mind the title that clearly not his to bear, irked the already irritated bargeman. Without looking at the remaining guard, Bard set out through the ruins of a city that must have been Dale. In the dawn's morning light he could see his breath cloud up as he exhaled, and now that he was no longer within the confines of a warm tent the cold seeped through his borrowed clothing and chilled him to the bone.

"Lord Bard?" the elf still standing at the tent's entrance made a movement as if to follow him, but looked reluctant to leave his post. Bard paid him no mind, instead he turned his gaze to the occupied buildings and tents around him, knowing that searching the healing stations first would be the best place to start.

An organized camp had been set up amid the once great city of Dale, and Bard could see some men hard at work in making a few of the buildings habitable. Elves moved about with Men, directing and assisting as needed, their calm demeanors seemingly reassuring the Lake-towners that all would be well.

Bard did not get far before he was suddenly swarmed by townspeople, who dropped what they were doing when they recognized him. They greeted him by name and thanked him heartily for slaying the dragon. They hailed him as their king, some loudly proclaiming that they were thankful the dragon had not injured him too greatly. Bard was more than ready to flee or to let his anger get the better of him. These people who called him their lord were the same ones who had turned deaf ears to Bard's words of warning, who had stood aside when the master had had him arrested. Now they dared act as if the wrongs done to him and his family could so easily be swept under the rug like a pile of dirt.

Bard's anger died though when he prepared to shove away their grasping hands, for he saw the pain and fear hanging about the people like a dark cloud. Safe they might be for the moment but the pain of last night's horror was still with them, many of them had most likely lost loved ones and they most certainly had been forced to leave their possessions behind. Fear of what tomorrow could bring was reflected in their eyes, which were turned to him in expectation of hearing words of reassurance and most likely a long-term plan on how everyone would be able to make it through the winter. For Bard knew, just as they did, that whatever brought the elves out of their woods would not make them stay forever, sooner or later the survivors of Smaug's wrath would have to stand on their own feet.

"Lord Bard," Molly, a woman who had often looked after Bard's children when he had had to work and Sigrid had been too young to take care of the house and two younger siblings, spoke. She smiled at him, tired and worn though she was, "We found the house of Dale's lord and have already started making repairs to it. Your family should be able to move into the first floor by tomorrow, and we shall get the rest done before winter fully sets in."

That was too much, and Bard said as much. "There is no need for my children and I to have such a fine place. Any of the homes along this street or the next will do fine."

The protests that went up at this effectively silenced Bard, surprising him at how adamant the people were at seeing to his comfort and that of his children. Molly spoke of how he was no longer a bargeman, he was their king, and he deserved a house befitting his new status. This was taken up by others, each giving his or her own reason on why Bard and his children deserved the best house in Dale and that they would not have their king sleep anywhere else. The situation had been taken out of Bard's hands, and he was wise enough to see that. Whilst he slept he had been proclaimed their king, by whom he did not know, but the damage had been done and until he got time to properly look at the situation and come up with an alternative, he would have to play at being a lord, even when that was the last thing he wanted to do.

The need to find Bain was pressing, but first he had to dispel the crowd. "Repair the first floor then, but we shall not need any more than that for some time. With winter coming in soon we will be staying together as much as possible to conserve heat and the more rooms opened up the more chance of a draft sweeping through the house. Everyone will need a place to stay before it snows, so that will be our main priority, first floor repairs first, then in the spring we can work on returning Dale to its former glory. Spread the word amongst all our people that I will need a council, men who know our food supply, state of repairs, and the tally of wounded. I leave the selection of who will represent each group up to you; send them to the elf king's tent in two hours. We are going to make Dale our home; therefore we need to know everything we can to make sure we are still standing when winter ends."

The crowd dispersed and Bard turned, eager to find his son and heartened that no one had mentioned that he had fallen. The possibility that Bain was still alive and whole made Bard walk faster, ignoring the ache of his injuries as he walked. When people greeted him as he passed he forced a smile, and when the elves acknowledge with a bow he kept his head up, hiding his confusion at the respect they showed him.

Bard knew when he had found the healing tents, this being the only place where the elves moved hurriedly. Yet before he could step into the nearest tent Bard saw the group of elves coming towards him, with the unmistakable elf king in their midst. It had to have been more than twenty years since Bard had seen King Thranduil, but the elf was unchanged, the passing of years not showing on his face as they did on Bard's.

"Lord Bard," King Thranduil said, his voice firm and reminding Bard of the tall, unbending trees of the forest. "I am glad to see that you are recovered from your injuries, I have done what I could while your unconscious but there are decisions and plans that will need your input. My captains are gathering in my war tent, if you will follow me we can see to what needs to be done."

Perhaps it was because Bard had faced Smaug and won that made the Man square his shoulders and face the elf king without fear. Or it might have been the fact that Bard had never liked being maneuvered about without a chance to give his opinion, and that had already happened enough times since he was awoken to make him quite irritable. "Your pardon, King Thranduil, but I am not at liberty to follow you at this time. I must find my son, and make sure that he is well. I thank you for securing the safety of my daughters, and coming to the aid of the people of Lake-town, I know there are things we must discuss but right now I must see to my family."

The elf king looked amused, while those elves with him raised eyebrows at Bard in incredulity. Thranduil moved out from the midst of his guard, and stood before Bard, measuring him and seeing more than the Man knew could be seen. "Of course, Lord Bard, I understand, being a father myself, how important it is to make sure of the well-being of one's children." He gestured to the healing tent, "You son was with you when you were brought in and is now sleeping on a cot in there. He sustained some burns and a few bruises, but nothing more serious than that. If you wish to see him do so now, one of my soldiers will lead you to the war tent when you are ready."

Without another word the elf king turned on his heel and walked away, the majority of his entourage following him. Bard stepped into the tent and paused at seeing the cots that took up as much available as possible, each one filled with a wounded man, woman or child, some of them Bard knew, some of them had been of Lake-town's more wealthier class, and some of them were strangers, their livelihoods so far removed from Bard's that they had never had cause to meet. Off to one side was what Bard was looking for, and he reached the cot in a matter of seconds, his hands stretching out to feel Bain's forehead, checking for signs of a fever.

Bard breathed a sigh of relief when he felt none, his son was not sick, and he could not see any injuries save for the bandaged hands. Gently, Bard took the smaller hands into his own, trying to ascertain how badly they were burnt without removing the wrappings. He hoped for Bain's sake that the boy had not lost the ability to use them, and that the skin would be able to grow back without too much scarring. Of course, with elves looking after him Bain stood a better chance of using his hands again than if he had been tended to by one of Lake-town's pompous healers. The poorer class of Lake-town had learned to look after themselves and find their own healing herbs when the physicians had proved to busy making a profit than actually healing anyone for good.

Moving so as not to disturb his son, Bard stood, grimacing as his ribs protested the movement, but he was able to move to the tent's flap without any problems. There was an elf waiting outside, who politely asked if he was ready to go to the war tent now. Bard nodded, thinking he might as well get that over with though he was going to find the captain of Lake-town's guard, or one of the wealthier merchants as soon as he could. Surely either one of them would be better suited to rule a city than he was?

_Who am I kidding_? Bard thought. Ignorant of city workings as Bard was, and having only the basic knowledge of reading, writing and mathematics, Bard knew he would be a better ruler than either the captain or any of the merchants, for they had been too far deep in the master's pockets and would no doubt turn Dale into a larger version of the corruption that had once permeated Lake-town before Smaug had burnt it down to ashes. It looked like he would have to rule, as his ancestors had done so many years ago.

It was a duty he did not want to take up, knowing that by doing so he was most likely condemning Bain to the same role when his time came. Leadership was a role he was unfamiliar with, having always worked behind the master's back to bring food to those who were starving but never having actively assumed a role that required others to follow him. He had governed his small household and raised his three children alone, that was the only experience he had in looking after others and he was not sure if that was enough to warrant him the best person for kingship, but for now it would have to do.

Besides, he could not, in good conscious, step aside and let the elves take further advantage of the people of Lake-town.

For all the good Thranduil had done for a people he had had very little contact with, Bard was wary of seeking more aid from him. He and every other survivor from the fallen Lake-town were already in debt to the elf king and his people, and Bard was not naïve enough to think that the debt would never be called upon to be repaid. In all his experience with elves, Bard knew they did nothing without wanting to do it and gaining something in return.

Had the people of Lake-town been freed inadvertently from the greedy hands of the master, only to fall into the cold grasp of the elf king?

Bard entered the war tent and King Thranduil and his captains turned towards him. "Aw, Lord Bard, thank you for joining us. There are many things we need to discuss, the most important of which being the continued safety of your people as well as what is to be done with the dwarves who survived the waking of Smaug."

Bard could not shake the way he was drawn to Thranduil's side like a spider reels in its prey. No matter what was discussed here Bard was certain that there would be many things left unsaid, particularly the elves' plans pertaining to the new inhabitants of Dale. The smile on the elf king's face was too satisfied, as if everything he wanted was now coming together.

Bard hoped he could remain strong against the storm he could see rising up over this very small part of Middle-Earth.

**AN: This was a hard chapter to finish, particularly because writing Bard's perspective was not easy. Let me know what you guys think. I have no beta so these chapters get published without a second opinion; I'm counting on my readers to let me know how I'm doing. **


	6. Chapter 6

The meeting did not last long, and for that Bard was grateful. He was even more grateful and surprised by how efficiently the elf captains gave their reports to not only King Thranduil to him as well. The more Bard learned, the more he became confused and wondered.

Thranduil was having a large part of his own winter stores being moved to Dale, and one captain had marked on a map where fresh game could be found the best during the cold months. The fishing in the lake might be sparse, another captain suggested, due to the carcass of the dragon inhabiting it and no doubt scaring off the fish for awhile. An eye must be kept on the lookout to see if this was the case.

Once the needs of the people taking refuge in Dale had been talked of, the tide turned towards the Lonely Mountain and the dwarves. Here the only auburn haired, female elf of the captains spoke up, noting the caliber of the four dwarves she had encountered in Lake-town and what they had done to assist the fleeing people. Bard found himself watching Captain Tauriel, looking at how the other captains moved around her and some of them bore barely tolerating looks. Perhaps it was because she was speaking favorably of the dwarves, and of how at least the nephews of Thorin seemed to know what 'honor' meant.

King Thranduil however, if Bard was any judge, seemed to have a gleam of pride in his eyes, the only expression that the Man could determine of the elf king's otherwise emotionless face. So, if Bard read the signs right, and he was a fair tracker that he was sure he was, it was because of the elf king that Tauriel had her position at all, and this was why the other captains tolerated her. But there was something about the auburn-haired she-elf that otherwise put off the other captains, something that would have hindered her from becoming a captain were it not for Thranduil's patronage.

When King Thranduil spoke, Bard returned his attention to the meeting. The contempt in the elf king's voice was practically visible, as was his disbelief that the dwarves would honor their pledge to the people of Lake-town and give them the promised gold. Bard felt this was slightly unjust, as he had met the dwarves and spoken with Thorin Oakenshield himself. He had seen the loyalty the dwarf had inspired in his Company, and he had seen how the dwarf had spoken to the Master and the people, using words far better than Bard could have to sway them to his side.

Surely the dwarves, who knew what it meant to have one's home burned down around them and driven out by a dragon would be sympathetic to the new people of Dale's plight?

Bard said as much, earning the attention of everyone in the war tent. For a moment he faltered, unsure if he should continue but King Thranduil waved a hand at him, "Go on, Lord Bard."

"You have given the dwarves until tonight to send word on whether they will keep their promise of not. You say now that it is unlikely they will meet your demands, even though you hold Thorin's youngest nephew in your grasp. I know there are feelings between both your races, and the possibility of either of you reaching a peaceful agreement with the other is nigh impossible, so let me put this proposal to you. If no word comes from the mountain by nightfall, or if it does and Thorin has refused, let me go tomorrow morning to speak with him." The elf king raised an eyebrow at him, and even the captains, who had all been respectful towards him, looked doubtful. "That is why Dale existed, isn't it? To be a bridge between your people and the dwarves, to offer a neutral ground on which you could meet and trade business without having to set foot in one another's realms?"

"Do you think you have the skills of a diplomat, Lord Bard?" King Thranduil's tone was challenging.

"No, I think I have the skills of a father, who will use whatever words he must in hopes of keeping a battle from happening that could endanger the lives of his children." _I have faced a dragon_, Bard thought, _I am not frightened of you, King Thranduil, or of Thorin Oakenshield. _

Bard was not prepared for that gleam of pride, that had once been fixed on Tauriel, to be shifted towards him. A smirk played around the corners of Thranduil's mouth, and the Man could tell that the elf was vastly pleased with Bard's display.

"So be it, Lord Bard. If Thorin Oakenshield refuses you then we will take two days more in which to train your men to fight, and on the third we will march on the Lonely Mountain. Let the dwarves sweat while they wait for us to come, time is on our side, not theirs. Captain Hilad, you will see to the training of the Men. Despite their inexperience we will stand as one on this endeavor, for the coming fight will be as much for their survival as well as our restored honor."

"Lord Bard," Hilad turned to the Man, "what weapons are your people familiar with?"

Bard sighed, having weapons lying about where the common folk could easily reach them was not something that the past few Masters of Lake-town had been keen on. Laws were strict on who could have a bow or sword, even fishing spears had been regulated. Anyone going outside the town to hunt or run the rivers with a barge had been given a weapon of course, but those were collected as soon as they returned.

"Most of the poorer men have handled a bow and fishing spear, the more wealthier and the guards have handled swords and pikes."

Hilad nodded, no doubt mentally noting the work that was cut out for him. "I shall have the armory located, and whatever armor and weapons that can be found there will be distributed amongst your men."

"That concludes our meeting for now captains," Thranduil said, moving towards his throne-like chair. "When Thorin refuses Lord Bard's parlay we will meet again to discuss battle strategies. Dismissed."

The elf captains vanished as soon as the order was given, and Bard made to follow. He had a little time left before his own council would meet so the first things to do would be to find a meal, and then check on his children. The girls should be up by now, so perhaps they could all eat together.

"Lord Bard, a moment of your time?" The elf king lifted his goblet of wine, inviting Bard to sit on the chair nearest to the throne, and Bard could not refuse. "You do seem eager in pressing the advantage you have with having my army so close by in taking the mountain and its treasures."

Bard was not sure if that was a question, but he gave an answer all the same. "The gold in that mountain is cursed, as much as it would be helpful in rebuilding Dale I want no part of it."

Thranduil shook his head, "The gold itself is not cursed. True, the great horde of Erebor called forth a dragon but in this alone the gold was not to blame. No, the greed of the dwarves and especially King Thror summoned Smaug to descend on them. Once Erebor thrived on its trade with not only Dale and the Greenwood, but with other cities as well. This changed when the Arkenstone was found, some call it the heart of the mountain, it is a gem of untold beauty and power and when Thror held it he doomed not only his line but his mountain. Slowly trade ceased with all but Dale, and even then the dwarves became very reluctant to part with anything but the base metals for which they had little use. Thror stood in his treasure room and counted his gold, he sat on his throne and smirked at all who came to bow before him, and ever the Arkenstone was within his sight. Rumors reached me of how he refused to eat or sleep unless he could so in his throne of treasure room. In name of the friendship we once had had, despite the wrong he did me, I went to him and all but begged him to throw the stone into the depths of the mountain, but he refused. Then Smaug came, and with him death and fire." Thranduil looked Bard in the eyes then, and the Man was struck by the length of years he could see in those blue orbs, "Smaug came because the gold stayed in one place and was coveted, he came because the greed of Thror threatened to outweigh his own, and a dragon's greed is great. As long as you keep the gold moving, spending it as it was meant to be used, and keeping your spirit free of the gold's influence, you shall have no worries, Lord Bard, of any dragons coming to Dale. "

"But, was not Smaug the last of the dragons?"

Thranduil smiled, the look making Bard think that the elf king knew more than he would ever say. "It is best never to dismiss the existence of dragons."

Bard left the war tent soon after, puzzled and troubled. He had come no closer in finding out what the elf king would want in return for aiding the people of Lake-town, but he had learned that Thranduil was taking great care a the homeless people not even of his own race, and for that Bard felt that he could trust the elf king, just a little. Despite the determination he felt that he could sway Thorin to giving the Men and elves what they wanted, Bard still felt as if a battle was coming and he would do all he could to be prepared for it.

Kili fought his restlessness, willing himself not to move unless necessary. He had spent most of the day lying down on a bed that, judging by the slight tilt and the lumpy mattress, had been crafted in a hurry, and even though it felt comfortable to a degree the young dwarf had never been one for laying about idle. His hands itched to do something, craft something, even hold a book, in order to take his mind away from the dullness that surrounded him, but there was nothing about that he could use.

Originally, the youngest son of Dis had been in the main part of the healing tent, kept under the watchful eye of both the healers and his guards, but eventually he had been moved to this partitioned off section of the tent. Kili wondered if this was King Thranduil's work, for shortly before he had been moved a messenger had arrived from the elf king for the head healer. But what could Thranduil mean by it? The silver-haired elf king had made it plain that morning that he did not trust Kili, no matter the dwarf's word or injury, and had ordered guards to watch him. The guards were still there, just on the other side of the cloak that hid Kili from view.

Kili sighed, pulling the two blankets snug about him, grateful for their warmth. Since being taken captive by the elves once again, the dwarf prince had been surprised by how he was treated. First, the elf who had escorted him to the healing tent had silently offered him support as they walked, and despite the bruising Kili's pride took in admitting he needed help, the brown haired dwarf had chosen to accept the aid rather than suffer the humiliation of falling. Once before a healer, Kili's leg wounds had been washed, swathed in a poultice of healing herbs and bound up in fresh bandages. The healer who had attended to him had been adamant in making Kili understand that if he ever wanted to be able to run again and not limp about for the rest of his life, he would keep the weight off his leg until the wound had fully healed.

There was nothing like the threat of being lame to make a young dwarf stay in bed.

Despite his fear though, Kili's youthfulness chafed at being confined. Patience was something that Kili was familiar with, having need of it to truly master the skills of the bow and the hunt, and many dwarves had said that of the two brothers Kili took longer to lose his head. Yet for all this, Kili had never been a good patient, and his poor mother had been sorely pressed to keep him in bed whenever the lad got sick or wounded.

Thinking of his mam made Kili's heart ache, wondering how Dis was doing and what she would think if she could see him now. A prisoner of the very elves who had turned their backs on her people, who she had taught him to hate, and who had arrested his uncle's company more out of contempt than for any solid reason. Would his mam be ashamed of him for being more than willing to lay here in solitude rather then to try to defy the elf healer's orders? Would she be disgusted that the prejudice she had instilled in him, that the hate she and Thorin had stoked for years to build within him, was diminishing?

For Kili found he could not hate the elves for anything they had done since first meeting them in Mirkwood. Laying here on this bed that should not have felt good had given Kili a lot of time to think, and the more he thought, the more he found himself questioning everything he had ever learned about the wood-elves. Uncle Thorin's Company had blundered upon the camping elves without a callout or plea for help, no wonder they had been set upon so quickly and subdued. The exiled Erebor dwarves had made no secret of their disdain for King Thranduil and his ilk, so Kili could find no fault for the elf king's actions in locking up thirteen dwarves who suddenly appeared on his land with no warning and armed for battle.

Then Thranduil released Fili and the others, giving their uncle a reasonable ultimatum that was more for the benefit of the people of Lake-town than for himself. Kili had been the most logical choice to be kept behind as insurance for Thorin Oakenshield's cooperation, not only because of his blood tie but also because his injury would slow down the dwarves in reaching mountain. Kili would not have admitted it, for fear of worrying his brother, but the thought of not having to scale the rocky ground had made the younger dwarf agree to Thranduil's proposal. He had not expected to be cared for though, that had been a pleasant surprise. At best, Kili had hoped that wherever the elf king ordered him to be tied up would allow him to lay down and rest his leg. Being sent to the healer's tent, where his wound would be tended to and he could rest had been more than Kili had expected, which was why he had promised not to run.

Kili shifted his good leg, bending it a bit back and forth to keep it from going stiff. After his leg had been seen to the young dwarf had slept, only waking up when that elf messenger had appeared with orders for him to be moved. Since then his mind could not rest, and he found himself thinking more than was his wont. He hoped his uncle would honor the agreement he had made with the Master of Lake-town. Seeing the suffering of the men, women and children about him in the healing tent had filled him with guilt, knowing that had not Thorin started on this quest the floating town would not have been destroyed. When he closed his eyes, Kili could still see the flaming timbers and hear the screams of those trapped in the inferno.

The Company that had made it to the mountain had much to answer for, if they were still alive. Kili hoped so, but he could not see how that was possible for surely they would have fought the dragon and perished before letting Smaug escape? How else could Kili account for the dragon willingly leaving his coveted horde to rain fire down on Lake-town? Unless Thorin and the others had sequestered themselves in an area the great wyrm could not reach, and out of anger Smaug punished the people of Lake-town?

Kili looked towards the side of the tent, which separated him from the outside. He could tell that the sun was setting, and with it the allotted time Thranduil had given Fili, Bofur and Oin would come to an end. An answer must come from the mountain, whether from Thorin or Fili, on what their course of action would be. Would they honor the pact made with Men? Or would they try to take on the whole elvish army as well as the angered remaining populace of Lake-town rather than part with a single gold coin?

Kili could not see his brother making such a choice, but his uncle had been acting so odd lately that the young dwarf was fearful in giving the hardened dwarf the same faith as he put in Fili. Once Kili would have said that his uncle would never have left him behind, that Thorin Oakenshield was proud of him and would always love him. But now the brown-eyed dwarf knew that saying such things would be a lie. Had not his uncle abandoned him to the care of strangers without so much as a backward glance? When Kili had first been wounded after they had climbed out of the barrels right into that waiting orc party, Thorin had grumbled at the delay Oin took in binding the young dwarf's leg and how Fili refused to let his brother walk without his support. Had not Thorin growled at him in anger when he had tripped down the stairs carrying that armload of weapons that had weighed heavier in his fevered state than anything had before?

Kili was drawn out of his thoughts by voices coming from the other side of the partition, and then a Man stepped into the young dwarf's little room. Kili did not recognize him right away, since the sun was going down and no one had come to light the brazier near him, so it was not until the Man had set down the water jug and cup on the stand next to the dwarf's bed that Kili suddenly knew him. Kili looked at the Man in puzzlement, his brow furrowing in confusion and wondering why someone who had egged on a mob to shout for his death was now serving him.

"You—"

The Man clapped a hand quickly over Kili's mouth, and the dwarf's eyes opened wide with sudden fear. Before Kili could cry out a knife was at his throat, and Alfrid's leering face was looking down at him.

"I've brought you fresh water to quench your thirst, and I will light the brazier so that you will have light to see by," Alfrid said in a friendly tone, loud enough that Kili knew the Man was speaking for the benefit of his elvish guards. Alfrid grinned mockingly at Kili and mouthed the numbers, one, two and three.

At three Kili heard a commotion in the main part of the healing tent, that got louder and his heart sunk at seeing the silhouettes of his guards move away. A knife cutting through the tent's wall made his eyes swing to the left, and two more Men entered, carrying rope which they used to bind his hands and a think cloth was tied over his mouth. "Get him up!" Alfrid hissed, and Kili was pulled to his feet where he nearly cried out in pain as his leg touched the ground. However, he was able to swallow the cry as one of the Men took the dagger from Alfrid and then knocked the sallow-faced Man out.

Kili watched Alfrid's body crumple to the floor before the dwarf was then pulled through the opening in the tent and into the gathering darkness of an alleyway where no elves were in sight. "Come on now!" Kili tried to hop, to keep his wounded leg from bearing his weight as much as possible but the Men were not above dragging him and his smaller height made him easier to maneuver. At sometime during the rough handling, Kili felt his bandage come undone and even though it was painful the young dwarf wiggled his leg until the binding came fully loose and fell to the ground. Thankfully none of the Men noticed, moving as quickly as they were and Kili hoped that whoever found the bandage would know he had not gone willingly.

A dark, cold building was their destination, and their etched it just as raindrops began to fall from the blackened sky. Once inside, Kili was thrown to the stone floor and he grunted in pain as he landed. A lamp was lit and a Man's grinning face was the first thing the dwarf saw, another Man was rubbing his hands together in triumph. Kili looked around the room to see that it was stocked with food and blankets, which none of the men seemed surprised to see so this plan of theirs, whatever it was, had been thought out and well planned for.

"Alfrid was right," one Man sneered, leaning down over Kili to grasp at his brown locks, "this little dwarfling once cleaned up could be a right pretty thing. Well lads," he turned to his comrades, "in a few days, we're going to be rich."

**AN: Phew! Long chapter! Okay, I wrote the Kili part first, and then put Bard's part at the beginning, let me know if it's all okay. Should I go back and rewrite Bard and Thranduil's part? I don't know, those two characters for some reason, when they are in the same room, are just not easy to write as they are when they are separate. Maybe it's their personalities? Anyway, review and let me know what you think.**


	7. Chapter 7

{_Thranduil_}

There was a bloody bandage lying on the table in the war tent.

Thranduil had known with the approach of night that there would be no word from the lonely mountain, confirming that Thorin Oakenshield was very much alive and most likely already under the sway of the gold. Though he knew it would be futile, Thranduil would let Lord Bard go ahead with his plan to parley in the morning, just so that they all would know that every other route had been tried first before the sword had been drawn. Even in battle politics had to be considered.

The blood soaked bandage on the table caught Thranduil's eye again.

When the alarm had sounded and the elf king had learned of his dwarf hostage's escape he had been enraged. What was it about dwarves that made them so hard to keep under guard? Losing his hostage would certainly affect Bard's parlay with Thorin in the morning, since effectively getting his nephew out from underneath the noses of the elves would embolden the dwarf and inflate his ego even more.

Thranduil looked down at the bandage, noting how the blood was smeared about.

It would have been very easy for Thranduil to have believed that a few dwarves had sneaked into the ruins of Dale and rescued their prince. Becoming angry had never been something Thranduil or his father had struggled at. The temper of Oropher was legendary, and Thranduil had inherited it but the current king of Mirkwood was grateful that his son had more of his mother's stubbornness than his father's anger. Thranduil shook his head, there was been plenty of times in the past when his anger had gotten the best of him, and it had very nearly happened this time, but thankfully reason had prevailed when the final reports had come to him. He had seen the room for himself, as well as the sallow-faced man who was holding a cold compress to the back of his head and being assisted by a healer to a cot. Alfrid's testimony had been exactly what Thranduil had expected, the Man knew nothing. He had entered the tent, bringing water to the dwarf as per a healer's instructions, and while facing the bed-ridden dwarf something had struck from behind. When the guards had returned from aiding the healers in subduing some temperamental patients they had noticed that the brazier on the other side of the partition had not been lit and had investigated.

Trailing the escaping dwarf and the ones who had helped him had been tried of course, the sudden downpour of cold rain had washed out any sign of tracks. The only thing the elvish scouts had found was the bloody bandage, which had been brought back for Thranduil to see for himself. Were it not for that bandage the elf king might have thought that the dwarves had rescued Kili, but once he had seen the bandage with his own eyes it brought into question other facts.

"You suspect the dwarves had nothing to do with it?" Bard asked, holding the cup of wine the king had poured him but not drinking it.

Thranduil was too busy thinking to be insulted by his hospitality being slighted however, "Why pull off a perfectly good bandage?" he asked. "Look at how the blood is smeared about, it started to bleed again while the bandage was being removed and the binding is ripped in several places which means it was removed violently. Why? The dwarves hate anything elven, it is true, but even they would not be so obstinate in risking the health of their prince by exposing his wound to infection." Thranduil and Lord Bard looked at the bandage, and from the corner of his eye the elf king could see that the Man was not far behind him in thinking.

"Then Kili was taken by persons unknown, who were careless in their handling of him and the bandage came loose. Do you think they are taking him to Thorin?"

Thranduil shook his head. "You said it yourself that these people, whoever they are, were careless in their handling of the dwarf. That does not speak of someone who wants to make a profit off of delivering Oakenshield's nephew safely to him." Thranduil felt frustrated, there was so little they had to go on, and the trail was getting colder. "You are a hunter," he turned to Bard, "you know how to track and you are a smuggler," Thranduil smirked at the surprised look on the Man's face. "If you were trying to smuggle a valuable piece of merchandise out of a guarded city what would you do?"

"I would find a place to hide after 'obtaining' possession of the item, and then wait a day or so until the city had calmed down before trying to get out." Bard looked down at the bandage before glancing back up at the elf king, "You think whomever took the young dwarf are still here, somewhere in the city." It was not a question and the Man sighed, "Please tell me none of my people had anything to do with this."

Thranduil smiled inwardly at the 'my people', knowing that the Dragonslayer, however reluctant, was accepting his place as the people of Dale's new leader. Soberly he replied, "It was too well timed."

The Man sighed, and Thranduil saw the weary lines on Bard's face showing how tired he was. "What do we do?"

"We carry on as we are. I will have those who made a disturbance in the healers' tent followed and privately questioned, but until we know who among your people we can trust you must not tell anyone, Lord Bard, what is happening. Under the guise of looking for materials I will have buildings searched but it will be slow. I will have the guard strengthened along the walls, and I do believe there were tunnels that ran underneath the city but what state they are in remains to be seen. When you meet with Thorin Oakenshield tomorrow do not let on that we do not have his nephew anymore. If we are wrong and the dwarf was recued then his uncle will reveal that on his own, if not then there is no need to make the situation worse." Bard nodded, putting his untasted wine glass down as he prepared to leave, but King Thranduil was not done, "I am placing guards on your children." The Man spun around to look at him, suspicion and confusion warring in his eyes, "It is clear, Lord Bard, that we have more than one enemy and we do not know from where they will strike or when. You are but newly appointed to your position, the majority of your people admire you for what you have done but admiration can swiftly change when the right words are used to taint a heroic image. Your children will be recognized royals when you are crowned, and as such they would be very valuable if an enemy could get his hands on them. I am offering guards from my own legion to help ensure the safety of those you hold dear. You will be able to go anywhere throughout the day or night and know that they are protected."

The elf king watched the Man before him, the tenseness in Bard's shoulders was not lost on Thranduil but he kept himself calm.

"Tell me, King Thranduil," there was a hard edge in the Man's voice, as well as a pleading note, as if Bard hoped he was wrong, "would an ally also take advantage of my children in order to keep me in line?"

"Undoubtedly," Thranduil answered, "if the ally thought for a moment that by doing so he would have any real advantage over you than yes, an ally would seek to control you through your children. But I am not an ally, Lord Bard, I am a father, who knows all too well how strong and vulnerable children can make their parents."

Silence permeated between the two lords, their eyes measuring the other before Bard nodded and left the tent. Thranduil turned towards the table once again and looked down at the bloody bandage. It had been risky to admit how much his son meant to him, and Thranduil was not in the habit of making risky moves but he and Bard had to understand one another if this alliance was going to work, everything depended upon it.

{_Kili_}

Kili lay in a corner of the room, huddled under a blanket. His four captors had fallen asleep, each finding their own makeshift bed amid the provisions of food and blankets, though he bet they were all a lot more comfortable than he was since he was the only on the cold floor. Of course they had been gracious enough to lay one blanket underneath him and another one over him, as well as bandaging his re-bleeding leg, but the cold still seeped into Kili's bones and the rain he could hear pitter-pattering against the roof certainly did not help in his quest for warmth. Lanterns had been lit next to each man, giving Kili a good view of them and thoroughly convinced that they were all slumbering deeply.

From the conversation he had managed to overhear, Kili knew that the Men had no fear of being found. They were in a windowless room, so no light would be seen from outside and they had gagged him, so calling out for help would be pointless and the rain would have washed away any tracks they had left behind. The leader of the group, a Man named Nem, had not been pleased to see the bleeding leg nor at the fact that the dwarf's bandage was missing. Kili had refused to tell them when his bandage had come loose, and the hit to his stomach, while painful, had not made him talk.

Grumbling, the Men had finally left him alone and Kili had watched them eat and drink before laying down to rest.

Unknown to the Men, Kili had found a broken off nail protruding from the wood behind him. Once he was sure his captors were sleeping, Kili began working his bound hands against the sharp end, every now and then nicking his skin but he merely bit down hard on his gag and kept working. Each of the Men had had a bit of ale before going to sleep, and Kili hoped it would be just enough to keep them under while he made his escape.

While sitting and waiting for a rescue might have been the better option, Kili did not like the odds of being found, nor did he like some of the looks that had been thrown his way. The only thing he had managed to glean from the Men's conversation was that they were planning to sell him, several neighboring cities were discussed as likely locations for this, but Kili was still ignorant as to why and he had no idea why he would be so desirable to have as a slave, if what the Men said was true anyway.

Despite having grown up in the poor dwarf community of Ered Luin, and having been an escort for rich merchants passing through, Kili had had a very sheltered life. His uncle and mother had done their best to shield him and Fili from the evils of the world, and both brothers had known very little of hardship, since Thorin and Dis had preferred to take on the more difficult tasks in order to spare the boys feeling any unnecessary pain.

Fili, being older, had learned more that Kili about certain things, though walking down that one street in the town of Men had been completely by accident. Kili was only a year into his adult age, and he was still very much an innocent, particularly about the twisted natures that resided in some of the darkest hearts of Man. To him it made no sense for these Men to have grabbed him, unless they had a death wish for Kili could not see the elf king or Bard letting them get away with this with their lives intact.

Kili was rewarded for his hard work by one strand of the thin ropes coming undone. After that it took little time in undoing the rest, once his hands were free Kili took out the cloth gag and slowly got to his feet. He was unsteady, needing to lean against the wall for support and he started to second-guess his plan.

Walking on his leg would have consequences, Kili knew that but he could not simply sit here and wait to be rescued. Especially if what that one Man had said about a tunnel had been true. If he could get outside then he could at least yell, and if those elves heard as well as they claimed then they would be on his location within minutes.

Years of hunting experience aided Kili in moving silently towards the door, despite the limp that accompanied him. He knew he would not stand a chance if they woke and saw him, unarmed and injured as he was they would be able to subdue him again in no time and Kili was determined that they would not get the chance. He was getting out, and finding his way back to that warm, lumpy bed in the healers' tent as fast as possible.

It took longer for Kili to reach the door than what would have been normal, since he favored his leg as much as possible to keep from straining it, but finally he was able to grasp the handle. The dwarf supposed he should thank the Men for oiling the hinges so the door would not squeak, of course they had done so they could leave without the elves hearing them but it worked well in his favor now. The irony of the situation almost made Kili snicker, but he managed to bite his lips to keep quiet just in time.

Unfortunately for Kili, he had not counted on the draft of cold air that swept into the room when he opened the door.

An oath erupted behind Kili, one of the Men feeling the cold air and waking irritated. The dwarf did not wait for the Man to fully comprehend the situation, he jumped forward, slamming the door shut as he did so and he could hear the angry shouts as the other Men woke up. A stroke of luck for Kili was the fact the door had opened outwards, meaning all he had to do was pull something in front of it and they would be trapped.

Kili looked about the small space and thanked Mahal that there were a few crates next to the door. Just as he reached for them something banged against the door and Kili pushed against it, using his legs to brace himself while one arm pulled the crates into position. The crates were empty so even though they were large and sturdy they were not too difficult to slide over, but Kili's injured leg trembled and the wound throbbed.

Finally the crates were in position and Kili pushed away from the door, running for the next door that he knew opened out into the street. It was still raining heavily and Kili cursed his poor timing, for maybe the elves would not be able to hear him over the din of the rain. He did not pause to think about this though, he could hear the Men pounding against the storage room door and he was not going to stand around waiting for them.

His limp was more pronounced by the time Kili reached the other door and grabbed the handle, his leg on fire, but he pulled the door open and smelled freedom. Just as he crossed the threshold the Men managed to push against the crates hard enough and were through, and this time the door Kili held opened inwards, he would not be able to pull the same trick twice.

Still Kili pulled his door shut as he turned and ran into a Man standing behind him. "Going somewhere?" An amused voice asked as hard hands grabbed his shoulders. The door behind him was wrenched open and Kili yelled, a hand clamping over his mouth and muffling the rest of his cry. "Now, now, none of that."

"Bring him inside." A voice ordered and Kili recognized the speaker as Nem, the anger in his voice did not bode well for the dwarf.

Kili struggled but he was hauled up by two men and brought inside without further incident. Once back in the storage room Kili's hands and ankles were bound with a thicker rope and the cloth gag was once more forced into his mouth. The Man who had caught him turned to Nem, "Lucky you had me keeping watch, eh Nem?"

Nem glowered at the sentry, "He wouldn't have made it as far as you if Fern hadn't fallen asleep." The Man called Fern sputtered a defense but Nem clipped him about the ear, silencing him. "Go out in the next room and keep watch. No moving about now, we need to make sure no one heard him but we don't want to draw any attention to this building if we can help it. Now get going!"

Sourly, Fern left the room and Nem turned to the trussed up dwarf lying on the floor. "And as for you, I've got to teach you a lesson. Can't have our goldmine running away from us so what can I do to show you that trying a second time will be a very bad idea?"

Kili tried to keep the fear out of his eyes, but he knew Nem could see it as well as the pain. The dwarf was already regretting running and knew a second try would be out of the question; his leg would not be able to handle it. The words of warning the elf healer had said to him came ringing back through Kili's head, and his eyes filled with tears as he dreaded the fact that he had just made himself lame.

"Can I teach him a lesson, Nem?" a stocky blonde man asked, his physique heavily muscled and just the thought of him 'teaching' Kili a lesson made the dwarf's breath hitch.

Nem smirked when he saw the reaction, "Alright, Smyth, go ahead." He stopped Smyth by the arm as the Man started forward, "Just don't touch his face, that's the first thing a buyer will look at and we don't want to hold him longer just to wait for that to heal. Try not to break anything but don't worry about his leg wound, whoever buys him won't have him walking much."

Smyth grinned and reached down for Kili, pulling him up while at the same time kicking out at the dwarf's wounded leg.

**AN: So, any ideas on how these guys should be taken down? Was Alfrid double-crossed or is he still in on it? Does Alfrid deserve to die for bringing this down on Kili? Review and let me know what you think. **


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: So, no one reviewed last chapter. Was it awful? If it was, tell me what was wrong and I'll fix it. I can't make this story better or continue its awesomeness unless you guys tell me what you think. I don't want to pressure you into reviewing, or lay down ultimatums, but reviews let me know how I'm doing and what I need to do to keep the story going. I want to finish this, but I need your help. Do I need a beta? Longer chapters? Please let me know. **

{_Bard_ }

The morning had dawned with a heavy fog rolling up to Dale from the lake, and the air was crispy cold. Bard emerged from his ancestors' house, grateful that his favorite coat had been repaired and was even better than before in keeping his body warm. The elves were real wonders with a needle and the Man made a note to send the pelts of whatever animals they managed to hunt to his allies for future coat or cloak making. His people would very warm this winter.

His people. Somehow, the words came easy to Bard and it was not because he was thinking of them as such so as to differentiate the Men from the elves, he had fully accepted his role as the people of Dale's ruler. Strange as it seemed for a poor bargeman to be able to raise his status to such a height it had happened, and Bard was not going to fight against it. There was simply too much to do to quibble about whether or not he was lord material, and not enough time to convince the people to pick someone else. For better or worse, Bard was a lord now, soon to be a king, if Thranduil and the Man's own council were to be believed, and he would shoulder this burden of leadership just as he had every other duty that had been placed upon him, with a firm hand, an understanding mind and a compassionate heart.

Bard's children soon followed him out of the tent, their current clothes a mismatch of what the elves had given them. Of course Bard had been reluctant to accept anything further from Thranduil until his own people were seen too, the thought of going around dressed in rich cloth while the survivors of Lake-town wore rags not sitting well with him. The deceased Master of Lake-town had been like that, and it had not endeared him to his subjects. However reluctant Bard might have been to take up Lord Girion's position, having the people revolt because he had given into his own vanity was something he wished to avoid. Dale's new inhabitants would never be able to accuse of him of being unjust, or greedy or vain, Bard swore he would not be the first of his line to forsake his family's longstanding values and morals.

Little Tilda caught her father's hand as they walked, her posture as serious as any seven-year-old could be. Bard smiled at her, amused by how she tried to act like a lady, apparently someone had been talking to her about proper lady etiquette. If Bard had to hazard a guess he would name Molly, whose daughters had worked as chambermaids for the families of the rich merchants. Bard did not mind the instruction, but he would have to make sure to set aside some time to make sure Tilda knew that while her lineage was noble that did not give her an excuse to become haughty. Impressionable as Tilda was, Bard constantly worried about the ideas others might instill in her head. Sigrid was old enough now and had had her mother's influence during those beginning years that Bard knew he had no cause to worry on her part, but Tilda would bear watching.

Reaching the gate, Bard found King Thranduil and an entourage waiting for him. A horse was saddled and the reins held by an attending elf, Bard kept his face impassive but inwardly he suspected that this mount was for him and he became apprehensive. The Man had not ridden a horse since his teen years, when he had been small and light enough to earn a living racing horses with the Master's colors against the other nobles of the neighboring towns. Bard wondered if he could properly remember how to mount a horse, let alone ride after nearly twenty-five years of being out of the saddle.

Delaying for as long as possible, Bard bid his children farewell and left one of his councilmen in charge until his return. Running out of excuses to linger, Bard remembered as he approached the horse to mount from the left and let his momentum carry him up and over the saddle, settling in the stirrups with an outward ease that fooled everyone, even the elves. Subtly, Bard checked the nearest mounted elf near him for the proper position in holding the reigns and then he gently nudged the horse forward.

Never before had Bard been more relieved in his life at how the horse moved, so steady in its gait that the Man had no reason to hold onto the saddle. Drawing alongside the elf king, the two leaders nodded to each other before moving out of the city of Dale, taking the winding, broken road towards the gates of Erebor. The mountain loomed before them, no longer a distant sight to Bard but now a very real thing that held within its depths the future or doom of his people.

The land between Dale and Erebor was a burnt, desolate waste, and Bard wondered of the land would ever grow anything. Perhaps a few years of proper tilling and care would show if this area would ever recover from Smaug's desolation. Bard hoped so, for he had no desire to rely on the elves or the other towns of Men for crops indefinitely. Whatever land was available that could be farmed would be put to use in the spring, only when they managed to grow their own food would the people of Dale start to gain their independence back.

"There are dwarves manning the battlements," Thranduil remarked, and Bard looked up at the gates of the Lonely Mountain, but at this distance he could not see what the elf king had noted. "Thorin is prepared for our coming."

That was not comforting, but Bard did nothing beyond making sure his sword was within reach. It was bad enough thinking that there were those in Dale who had helped smuggle the young dwarf out of the healing tents for some nefarious purpose, the thought that there might be someone informing the dwarves of the elves' and Men's movements was also unsettling. Was there no one beyond his family that he could trust?

Thranduil drew his horse to a halt on the small bridge, a quarter mile from the from the dwarven gates. Bard could see the dwarves up above the gates now, and their scowling faces had hardly changed from when they had been standing in his house, with the same facial expressions. Perhaps their faces were permanently carved that way, like the stone they loved working with so much.

"Has any sign been found of young Kili?" Bard asked, turning towards Thranduil in order to keep his voice from traveling farther than where he wanted it to.

"None," Thranduil's eyes were cold. "I have scouts following a few suspects but I doubt they would be so foolish as to do anything suspicious so soon. Wherever the Men are who took the dwarf they will most likely be waiting for their contact to meet with them in order to finalize their plans, that is what we must wait for."

Bard nodded, a thought coming to him but for the moment he pushed it away, he had a dwarf to barter with.

Urging his horse forward, Bard left Thranduil behind as he rode over the bridge and towards the gates. Nearing them, Bard realized that they were not so much gates any more as they were a pile of rubble, wedged together to form a barricade against anyone who wanted to enter the mountain. It would take a battering ram of tremendous proportion to blow a hole through the stonework, hastily constructed though it was, and Bard had not seen anything close to what they would need in Thranduil's army.

Bard drew his horse to a stop before the wrecked gates, "Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, last King Under the Mountain, come forth!" Silence answered Bard's hail, and he rose a little in the stirrups, "Why do you hide like a thief in your own home? Come down and talk with me, heir of Durin, ere I leave with words unspoken."

"Who shouts for the King Under the Mountain?" a voice thundered down to him, and Bard craned his neck to see Thorin, a glinting golden crown upon his head, staring at him from the ramparts.

"One who would be a friend to you and yours, noble Thorin. Will you not come down and hear what I have to say?

A debate seemed to take place above him, before the dwarf's head disappeared and soon Bard saw Thorin's face appear in a hole in the barricade. The Man dismounted and let the reins of his horse fall to the ground, hoping the animal would stay put as there was nothing near by for it to munch on. When Bard neared the hole he saw recognition dawn on the dwarf's face.

"Ah, so it is the famous dragonslayer who comes to my door to parlay. How quickly you have moved up in the world, bowman. When first I met you, you were a bargeman scrapping by a living taking care of the elves' leftovers, and when I last saw you the Master of Lake-town was having you dragged off for interrupting our negotiation. Now I hear you have not only slain the red wyrm, but have also been proclaimed Lord of Dale. It seems more than one of us have stepped from rags to riches this day."

Bard clenched his jaw, "I descended from the line of Girion, the last lord of Dale, taking his place is my birthright. But I have not come to argue titles with you, Thorin Oakenshield, I have come to speak of the deal you made with the Master of Lake-town."

Thorin sneered, "What of it?" (**AN: I know, borrowed from the movie, but it's such a great line)**

"The Master is dead, but the people of Lake-town are now without their homes and proper resources to see us through the winter. We have borrowed much already, with nothing on our coffers to pay back the debt. The coming years will be very lean for my people and not many will survive the bitter cold months that are coming, those that do will have a hard spring with no tools for planting or crafting. You swore on your honor that you would give a quarter of the treasure of Erebor to Lake-town for their aid to you in supplying food and weapons. Now that the dragon is gone, and you are restored as the mountain's rightful ruler, I have come to see when you will honor your pledge to my people and give them what was promised."

If possible, Thorin's sneer deepened and he looked at Bard with utter contempt, "So, after all the words of denial you spoke in the square before the Master's Hall, you are just as greedy as the rest of your kind, you all want a piece of my treasure horde!"

"I would gladly take another way to ensure the survival of my people if there was one, but there is not!" Bard said heatedly. "Would that you had never come to Esgaroth, or woken that dragon, but what's done is done and a bargain was made that must be honored. Do not turn your backs of a people who have suffered as yours did, who have lost their lives to fire and may never be as they once were. We can be your allies, growing the crops for you as our ancestors did in the past, or we can enemies and you can starve while you sit on your mountains of gold."

Thorin snorted, "Do you think I do not know of the elves who have given you aid? Or of the fact that the pointed eared, tree-lover who rode with you has become your friend? You offer me a friendship with one hand while your other seeks to hide the army that will storm this fortress the moment I refuse you. Do you think the mighty Thranduil will continue his friendship with you once he has slaughtered us and holds the mountain? You are but a boy to this game, whelp, an upstart trying to be a lord but failing. I will not parlay with the puppet of the elves, not while there is an army at my door, and most certainly not while they hold my nephew against me. Return Kili by sundown and send the elves back to their forest, only then will I consider sitting down with you."  
Bard was stunned, and he stood there while Thorin disappeared into the darkness. Finally he moved, returning to his horse that had thankfully not wandered and Bard mounted with more ease than the first time. He rode back to Thranduil, who looked like he had not moved at all and he drew abreast of the elf king Bard slowed his mount.

"He has refused to pay what is owed my people, and will not talk anymore unless his nephew is returned and your army sent away." Bard turned back to look at the mountain, "Had I not seen it with my own eyes, I would not have believed that the dwarf before me was the same one I had smuggled into Lake-town. Why?" Bard looked at Thranduil, feeling young compared to both the dwarf and the elf who had lived so many more years than he had. "He knows we have him outnumbered, he knows he cannot hold the mountain with only thirteen dwarves no matter how well the that barricade is constructed. Why would he risk bloodshed when there is a peace offer to be had?"

Thranduil looked at him and Bard could see the understanding with them, as well as the distain for the dwarves, "Never underestimate the stubbornness of dwarves, Lord Bard. They love their treasure, and what was promised when they had nothing now looks as if they are giving it up under duress. You cannot reason with dwarves when they are like this, Dragonslayer, so there is but one course for us to take."

Thranduil turned his horse around and rode back to Dale, Bard trailed after him, thinking and pondering the words Thorin had said. That the dwarf had meant to poison the relationship between Thranduil and Bard was obvious, but like with all liars there was a hint of truth in what was said, and Bard could not dislodge them from taking root in his mind.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Sorry about the delay, technical difficulties and then my life caught up, but hopefully I can get back to weekly updates now, that is if people are still interested in this story.**

{_Thranduil_}

Dale, once a prosperous city, remembered only in the memory of the Mirkwood elves and in the tales of Men, had changed much in the course of a day. Where before a pile of ruin and ash, the remnants of a night of terror that still carried the echoes of screams, had been there now stood a bustling camp, thriving with life. Yesterday the survivors of the sunken Lake-town had moved about the barren ruins of Dale as a frantic people, fearful of the approaching winter and the uncertain future, saddened by the loss of loved ones and anxious as to the fates of those lying in the healers' tents whose fates hung by weak threads.

But that had been yesterday.

Thranduil stood upon the ramparts of an intact wall, looking down at the organized people below him. He was impressed, and pleased, and for a being who had started to feel the drag of time, Thranduil knew he had found a worthy cause to focus on and this fill the hours of each day. All in the name of furthering his knowledge of Men and keeping a trusted ally between him and the dwarves of course.

Thranduil watched as the women sat about in various groups. There were those who were sewing, working on patching clothes or re-fortifying temporary roof coverings to help keep the worse of the snow from piling in. The older women or those recovering from injuries were minding the babes and toddlers, making sure that those who had an inclination to explore did not wander out of sight. A third group of women were checking the fireplaces of each claimed house and the smoke ovens so that repair work could be done before it got too cold to venture outside.

The immortal elf's eyes landed on Bain, who was directing a group of young lads to stack a pile of wood outside each house. The boy's hands were on the mend but he could not, as yet, hold anything in his palms. Still, he could lead, and Thranduil recognized the makings of a great leader in the dragonslayer's son, and to best nurture that was to give the boy responsibility.

Lord Bard's daughters, who Thranduil had officially met that morning after returning from the failed parley with Thorin, were not idle either. Sigrid, the eldest, was busy preparing the smoke ovens for when the hunters returned, hopefully with meat. Of course wagons had arrived from Mirkwood with food and blankets, but smoking the meat, a non-elvish custom, would definitely help preserve the food better for the winter months. Little Tilda, her eyes bright with curiosity, was helping in the healers' tents, Thranduil had seen her, with a most serious look of her face, helping a few of the burnt victims drink water.

So much had changed amid the ruins of Dale from yesterday. True, there was still fear and uncertainty, but there was strength now and courage. Today the people had awoken and found the elves still with them, and that, Thranduil believed, was a great bolster to their confidence. He smiled, the immortal king knew he was no longer looking at the survivors of Lake-town, they had vanished during the night, before him were the people of Dale and they would restore their city to greatness.

Footsteps coming up behind him alerted the elf king of another's approach and he turned to see one of his captains, Elnir, coming up behind him. "_My king_," the captain bowed and Thranduil motioned him forward.

"_How goes the training, Elnir_?"  
"_There have been no problems yet, your highness_," Elnir reported. "_Most of the Men have never handled any form on weaponry, save fishing spears, and they lack discipline but they learn quickly. With only two days to train them, the Men will not be graceful fighters but I can promise you that they will not be injuring themselves when we finally go into battle_."

Thranduil nodded, "_That is enough_." Inwardly the king smiled, it looked like his investment was paying off. A laugh broke out below them, a foreign sound as Thranduil had not heard it since arriving to help his mortal subjects, or course they were not his subjects anymore. A child, the one who had laughed, clapped hands over her mouth, her eyes wide as if she had committed a grave sin but giggles soon escaped all the other children around her. The effect was instantaneous, smiles broke out across the faces of the adults, even the elves standing around joined in at seeing the playful children laugh without a single worry hanging over them.

From the corner of his eye, Thranduil saw Elnir's expression and he turned away from the happy scene to his captain. "_Speak, Elnir. What is on your mind_?"

Elnir was hesitant, and rightly so, questioning the motives of his king was not something he made a habit of but Thranduil had now called upon and he had to answer. "_I have served you loyally for many years, my king, and not once have I doubted you or sought to question your actions. You are my king; I have done all you have commanded me to do without hesitation_." Elnir let his gaze wander over the people below, he could not understand but he dearly wished too. "_Before the fall of Dale we barely kept watch on Dale, we did not mingle with the mortals save for political meetings. When Dale and Erebor fell there was only the river trade to tie us to Lake-town, but words between our people and theirs were rarely spoken. You communicated with whoever the current Master of Lake-town was by messages and we patrolled the outskirts of their borders, but there was no visible contact except with the bargeman. You have made your distrust and dislike for Men and any mortal obvious, my king, and I always thought your reasons for doing so were just, what with how those Men acted during the battle in Mordor and how the dwarves refused to return the queen's necklace, mortals are simply too fickle and their lives too short to make any of this worth the effort_."

Elnir stopped, knowing there was a line somewhere and wondering if he had crossed it. Thranduil could demote him for this, years of being one of the king's five captains, the honor and prestige, all gone because Elnir had to know why they were going into a fight he could not see they had any place in.

"_Ask your questions, Elnir_."

Thranduil was calm, his voice controlled and his eyes watching his people working alongside Men. Elnir had expected before now that the legendary temper of the king would have erupted, bringing an end to the conversation and Elnir's career, but nothing happened.

"_Why did we come, my king? Why did we march with all speed to fight a dragon that was not attacking us? Why did we lend aid to the people of Lake-town? Why are we planning to storm the ruins of Erebor to help these people win what was promised to them by a dwarf? Aside from recovering the queen's jewels I can see no reason for us to enter the mountain at all_."

The tightening around Thranduil's eyes warned Elnir that he was dangerously close to the line, and really the captain should have known. After all these years, his king had not fully healed, and would never heal until he was reunited with his queen on the shores of Valinor. "_Forgive me, my king_."

Thranduil turned to him, his blue eyes iced over and the smile that had tugged at his lips in response to the children's laughter was nowhere in sight. "_Understand this, Elnir, I owe you no explanation. It is only because of your valuable years of service and the fact that you saved my son's life that I am answering you at all. We came here to help a displaced people, Elnir. If I could have helped the dwarves I would have, in fact, I was ready to offer them aid but the only help they wanted was my army_." Thranduil turned to look at Erebor, "_With only one way into the mountain I was not going to condemn my soldiers to be burnt to death for the sake of a fallen mountain. Smaug was entrenched and he was there to stay, no one was going to evict him without the body count being heavy_." He gestured to the Men, "_The dwarves might have been successful in reclaiming their kingdom but at the cost of Lake-town. Do you know how many people died that night? Families were torn apart, children and parents, burned to death because the dwarves never had a plan to kill Smaug. Thorin went to the mountain for one reason, for the Arkenstone, never mind the consequences. My army coming to the aid of Lake-town did not help endear these Men to the dwarves, for their anger is deep no matter how misplaced it is_." Thranduil turned Elnir, "_How long would it have been before Smaug descended on Mirkwood once he was done burning Lake-town? The dragon was content to lie on his horde of gold and never move save to hunt, but once his wrath was ignited when the dwarves woke him, attempting to 'steal' from his treasure trove, Smaug would not have stopped until the whole north east was in flames. These people_," Thranduil looked at the playing children, "_will not survive the winter without aid. They will not be able to rebuild this city without the funds from Erebor that are being denied them. We are helping them, because I am going to restore the three kingdoms to greatness, we will no longer be the only fighting force in the northeast. We will have allies, strong ones that can defend their own borders as well as assist us when it matters. The spiders have made their homes in Mirkwood long enough, they will be driven out and their nests destroyed, permanently_. But here is where we will make the first step, with the rebuilding of Dale and showing Thorin Oakenshield that if he is bring his people back to Erebor he will need elves and Men to help him." Those icy blue eyes looked at Elnir again, "_And my queen's jewels have lain in that dwarf-infested, dragon smelling mountain long enough_. _If that is all, Elnir, you may return to your duties_."

Elnir bowed, backing up three steps before turning to walk away but the voice of his king stopped him. "_Is it not worth it to hear the children laugh_?"

"_Yes, my king_." Elnir had to concede, because hearing a child laugh, so carefree and light, was almost worth anything.

{_Bard_}

Bard had never had a hard time focusing on a task before, and yet now he could barely tie the rope securely. He was distracted, and he really had no right to be so. It was not as if he had never seen auburn hair before, so the color had nothing to do with it, and since his wife's passing there had been a few women whom had shown kindness to his children and looked after them while he went off on his barge, so it was not that either. Perhaps it was because she was a female elf, and he had never seen one before despite all the trips he had made up and down the river between her kingdom and his town.

The first time he had seen Captain Tauriel had been in the war tent, taking council with Thranduil and his captains. At the time Bard had been wary of everyone and the war tent was no place to be making eyes at a she-elf, no matter how curious he had been about her and her standing in Thranduil's council at the time. Then things had unfolded quickly after that and Bard had not had time to think of Tauriel or anything else that did not have to do with his people or the kidnapping of Kili.

That had changed when Bard and Thranduil had returned to Dale after the failed parley this morning. The female captain had been by his children, who were all talking animatedly with her, even stern Sigrid was chiming in and listening to what Tauriel had to say. Bain was a little standoff-ish, and while Bard had seen admiration in his son's eyes it was blear that Bain was uncertain is he should be present with his sisters and a female warrior. Being properly introduced to the auburn haired captain had not been a problem; little Tilda had been eager to introduce them, but to learn that she had saved his children's lives, when he had been locked up and their home under attack, that had been eye-opening piece of information.

The entire story had to be heard and Bard managed to properly convey his thanks, and if the she-elf noticed his hands tightening around Tilda and Bain she did not remark upon it. Bard straightened up from finishing tying down the boat, he owed a debt to Thranduil's captain, of that there was no doubt. His children were alive today because of her and Prince Legolas, the Man sighed, the list of what he owed the elves of Mirkwood kept growing longer with every passing hour.

Having helped secure the boats and barges along the shore for the winter, Bard and the rest of the Men headed back to Dale. Just outside the wall, Bard could see a group of Men being trained in archery and he checked the sun's position for the time. Soon he would have join his own group for training, only, since he already knew how to handle a bow, he would be learning how to wield a sword.

Coming to the market square, Bard started to head for tent that had been designated the 'meal tent', where everyone could come grab a hot serving of soup throughout the day, but something caught his eye. Alfrid Lickspittle was walking across the market square, the very picture of minding his own business, but Bard had seen that look too often before to know that it meant anything but trouble. There was a bruise on the Man's temple, and Bard froze as he realized that the only way Alfrid could have gotten the bruise was if he had been struck from the front, which meant he had seen who had knocked him out!

Feeling a rising sense of alarm within him, Bard grabbed the nearest elf and quietly ordered him to find Thranduil immediately.

{_Kili_}

Kili awoke with a groan, muffled by the heavy cloth covering his mouth. He was bound hand and foot to two crates, and his injured leg felt as if it was on fire. His mouth was parched, and moving was a terrible idea as his whole body cried out in pain. Nothing felt broken though, even his leg, bruised and battered as it was, had not been broken. Of course, Kili did not think this had been an oversight or a mercy, the Men simply did not want to be hampered by a broken limb.

Thinking of his captors, Kili saw that they were once again sprawled about the room, some sleeping and a couple playing a game in the corner. He stayed still, not wanting to agonize his injuries anymore but also not to draw attention to himself again. Nem might order another beating just out of spite, and Kili knew he could not handle any more.

Closing his eyes, the young dwarf tried to drift back into the pain-free darkness of sleep. He could do nothing now, as much as it hurt to admit it, Kili knew he was utterly helpless now and had no choice but to be complacent to his captors' wishes. It was up to King Thranduil now, and Kili hoped that the elf lord was not as stubborn at holding a grudge as his uncle was. For if the elves did not find him and rescue him, then the young dwarf prince was going to be a slave and that was a fate worse than death.

**AN: *****IMPORTANT***** How would you like Kili to be rescued? While he's still in the building? When the bad men are going to make a run at smuggling him out of Lake-town? Do you think I can pull off a Bard/Tauriel, or should I not have a romance in this? Your opinions matter, so please let me know what you think in a review. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Guest(1): Thanks for your review. Thank you also for reminding me about Legolas, this is why I need reviews, to make sure I don't forget anyone. A father/son moment? I'll see what I can do. The movies definitely needed a better relationship between Thranduil and Legolas. **

**Guest(2): Thank you for your continued interest. Not getting reviews can dishearten me or make me sluggish in updating. If you're interested in Bard/Tauriel there is another story that I found, called **_**Return to Me**_** by Winter-Rae, which is pretty good. Thanks for the ideas, I like getting peoples' input as it helps me plan and write each chapter. **

**Warning: Violence in this chapter, details of such, let me know if it's too much. Some suicidal thoughts, but nothing acted upon. **

**AN: I need a beta reader, someone I can bounce ideas off of and can review my chapters before I upload them just to make sure everything sounds good and the chapter is solid. If you're interested send me a review and we'll talk.**

{_Kili_}

"I'm tired of sittin' here doin' nothin'!"

The voice awoke Kili and he reluctantly opened his eyes. His head pounded but that was a mild ache compared to the rest of his body. Blearily, Kili looked at the men who were not only all awake but very irritable as well. Each was looking at the other with annoyed expressions, no doubt having had enough of being cooped up in this one room. Kili remained still, not wanting to make himself a target for another beating, which, given the short string of tempers being displayed, might very well happen.

"We should left when he first grabbed the dwarf."

"And we would have hanged," Nem hissed. "Only fools would have tried running through a city this large at night with a host of elves in pursuit, rain or no rain they would have caught us. By disappearing we throw them off our scent, I explained this to all of you before. This job isn't like the others, where Lake-town's master made his men look the other way and we could get in and out without fear of getting caught. If we want to be able to spend the money our acquisition will make us we have got to take care in how we move out of here. One sloppy move on our part and the elves will be onto us in a matter of seconds, and they'll hang each of us for trying to smuggle their bartering hostage out of here."

"Well we've waited long enough now!" Another Man interjected. "Every second we wait here is time lost we could be making our way down river, or finding a buyer."

"Flynn's right, the longer we wait here the worse of a time we'll have trying to get safely down the river before it freezes, and cold weather has a habit of making Men stingy with their purses."

"Fine," Nem growled, "we'll leave today. We'll wait until Alfrid returns with the map, then we will go."

This plan suited everyone for the time being and Kili closed his eyes, feigning sleep on the chance he actually would drift off and hopefully be left alone.

Maybe he did sleep, Kili was not sure, but time seemed to pass from when he closed his eyes to when the opening of the door startled him awake. The newcomer was Alfrid himself, looking just as sallow faced as ever, the grin on the Man's face was sickening and Kili shuddered as he perceived his window is being rescued closing just as the door closed behind Alfrid.

"Did you bring the map?" Nem asked.

Alfrid smirked, patting his coat to indicate an inside pocket, "I finished cataloging the tunnel I found just a little while ago, and I took a different route to make sure I was not followed. We can leave tomorrow at the earliest."

Nem smiled, "Plans have changed, Alfrid, we're leaving right now."

Alfrid lost his grin, "That's not the plan! We agreed to wait a couple of days before setting out, and tomorrow will be perfect. The elves and Bard's followers will be busy fighting the dwarves, no one will be watching the other side of the city and we can safely use the tunnel without any of the elves overhearing us."

"If we're using the tunnel the elves won't be able to hear us while we're underground anyway," Nem said. "Hand over the map and we will leave now. Those interested buyers I mentioned won't wait forever."

"Fine, fine," Alfrid said, "but I want a larger cut than what we agreed on."

Kili may have been young, but the current conversation, as well as the looks he could see the Men behind Alfrid exchanging, made the dwarf tense. Something was going to happen, and Kili had a feeling Alfrid would not like the outcome. The tension was visible in the room, especially by the way Nem was looking at Alfrid, Kili could not believe Lickspittle was blind to how his words had been received.

"You want to change our agreement?"

"If you can change the terms than so can I. After all," Alfrid argued, "this was my idea. I knew the elves would use the dwarf as a bargaining chip and I knew it would be useless, if Thorin Oakenshield had any love for his kin he would not have left him behind. And I'm not about to scrimp my way through a hard winter with that bargeman lording it over me! So yes, you owe me, Nem. Without me you would not have known about the dwarfling, without me you would not have had someone to distract the elves or keep that dwarf from raising an alarm. I took a risk letting you knock me out so I could check out the tunnel without warranting suspicion. I deserve for all I've done while you've been sitting here warm and well-fed."

Nem nodded, "Perhaps you're right, Alfrid, perhaps you do deserve more. Shall we walk over here and talk about how much your cut should be?"

Kili watched with wide eyes as Nem led Alfrid to a corner, their backs to the rest in the room. Nem had one hand on the smaller Man's shoulder, smiling affably down at him and Alfrid was grinning, looking quite pleased with himself.

"In my opinion," Nem said, "you cut should be like this."

Kili did not see the Man draw the dagger, but he heard the sound it made as Nem plunged it into Alfrid. The wet _slick_ sound, prompting a gurgle of incomprehension from Alfrid, had Kili trembling, watching in the callous way Nem murdered one of his own people. The dagger was pulled loose and Nem stepped back, allowing Alfrid's body to fall to the floor. Kili's stomach rolled as he realized the Man was still alive, and, gagged as he was, the dwarf could do nothing but watch silently as Alfrid looked up at Nem, choking on the blood in his mouth.

Nem crouched beside the dying Man, pushing aside the fur coat to pull out a folded piece of paper, "No one demands a bigger share of a bounty, especially a miserable wretch like you. I could have had anyone do the jobs you did, if you truly want to be valued, Alfrid, you have to make yourself truly unique, otherwise you're just replaceable."

Nem straightened and saw that Kili was awake, he grinned, "Get the dwarf up, Smyth you carry him. We're taking the tunnel and leaving now."

Supply packs had already been packed, and so the Men were already heading out the door as soon as Nem gave the orders. Kill was hauled up and slung over a shoulder by the very Man who had given him a beating the night before, the position was not comfortable by any means but Kili was hardly able to complain so he settled for muffling his whimpers of pain instead. These Men had already heard him scream, the dwarf was going to give them the satisfaction of hearing anymore of his cries.

Outside Kili drew in a deep breath of fresh air through his nose, glad to be out of the stifling storage room and away from the dying Alfrid. Dangling over the back of Smyth, Kili watched the Men circle him as they stepped out into the street. Furtively, the dwarf looked around, searching the empty street behind them, the houses and the rooftops, his hope sinking as he realized that there was no one in sight. He had no idea where this tunnel was but now it looked like they would arrive there without being seen by anyone.

Kili tried to keep his eyes clear, but tears prickled at the corners and his bound hands were useless to swipe at them. Nem and his mercenaries were going to make it out, they were going to get away and sell him to the highest bidder. Kili sagged; perhaps he could struggle once they reached the river and throw himself overboard. Surely drowning was better than being a slave?

Halfway down the street and Kili was pulled from his dark thoughts by the _swish_ of an arrow striking the cobbled stones right in front of Flynn, who was leading the group.

"Hold!" Kili could not see who had spoken, but by the lightness of the voice, edged with a sharpness that only an elf could master, the young dwarf knew his rescue had finally arrived. A score of elf archers covered the rooftops, their bows taut and arrows notched. From around the corner Kili saw a host of Men and elves come, swords drawn and leading them Bard the dragonslayer.

"Lay down your arms and ye shall have fair trial before King Thranduil."

"Run for it!" Nem yelled, and Kili cried out as Smyth jostled him, running towards the nearest building as arrows rained down around him.

Kili had a good view of the precision of the elvish archers, and in one corner of his mind he could appreciate the elven skill with a weapon he chose to favor before all others, but at the moment Kili was more terrified than appreciative. Arrows were flying every which way to his perspective, striking the Men around him in the front and back, arms or legs, making each of Nem's followers cry out and fall. A few arrows came close to Kili, but none struck Smyth, the elves, as good as they were, had no wish to chance a shot at the large Man carrying the dwarf prince and risk hitting the hostage should the Man change his course.

Nem was in front of Smyth and he opened the door, closing it immediately after Smyth made it through with Kili.

"That cursed Alfrid led them right to us!" Nem hissed, retreating further back into the ruined building, away from the broken windows and the rotting door. Kili was placed on his feet, though Smyth had to hold him up as Kili's wounded leg would not support him and his other leg was bruised and sore. Reaching the back of the building, Nem looked around and his anger mounted. There was a half destroyed staircase so going up was out of the question, but the back door looked to be in better shape than the front one and with the staircase out of commission that left only two ways anyone could come into the room.

"Give him to me," Nem gestured and Smyth pushed Kili towards his boss, the dwarf stumbled, almost falling to his knees before Nem grabbed him and drew him in close. "Alright, Smyth, take a look out that door and tell me what you see."

Smyth threw a wary look at Nem before obeying, he eased the door open carefully, "It's an alley, or was. Looks like the back of the building to the left of us collapsed, so we can't get out that way."

"And to the right?"

Smyth had to push his head out to see but before he could answer the _whizz_ of an arrow was heard and the Man jerked back in time to avoid it. The shaft hit the door with a _thwack_, and Smyth slammed it shut before looking back at Nem, "They have us surrounded."

"Perhaps," Nem said, turning Kili so that his back was pressed against the Man's chest, "but as long as we have this little nugget they won't come in here. We need to barter our way out of here, keep our heads about us and we can get out of this alive. You hear me, Smyth?"

Smyth grunted, "I hear you."

The two Men froze when they heard the sound of the front door opening, the unoiled hinges squeaking from the movement. Nem quickly pulled Kili away long enough to slap him hard back and forth across the face, the dwarf, caught unawares, cried out through the gag from the assault and Nem pulled him against his body again. "You out there!" Nem shouted, "Did you hear him? Those were just a few slaps this time. You know that wound in his leg? It isn't looking pretty, I have a half a mind to cut the whole limb off, or maybe I'll cut his fingers off, or blind him! You want this dwarf prince in one piece you'll heed _my_ terms! You hear me?"

Silence followed Nem's shout, and Smyth shifted from one foot to the other, clutching his sword tightly in one hand. Kili breathed heavily through his nose, his heart was hammering in his chest and he could feel his whole body trembling. Fear, it permeated throughout his being and Kili found he could no longer keep it at bay.

How would Nem get out of this? How would he be sure that any deal made with the elves would not be a trap?

"We want proof of life!" That was Bard's voice, Kili was sure of it, and by the way Nem's hand tightened on the dwarf's shoulder, it appeared the Man was not happy by the request. However, Nem obviously saw the benefit to proving his hostage was still alive for he moved Kili towards the doorway adjoining the two rooms. The cold steel of a dagger was pressed against the dwarf's neck as Nem moved, and when they rounded the corner Kili could see Bard, flanked by blonde elf swordsmen.

"This proof enough for you?" Nem snarled.

A noise behind him had Nem turning his head and he gaped in astonishment. A blond elf had come down the rickety staircase and now had an arrow drawn on Smyth. Kili recognized the elf as the one who had been with Captain Tauriel when she had stepped in to protect Bard's children from the orcs. If he remembered the auburn haired elf had called him Legolas. "Drop your weapons!"

Perhaps Smyth thought he could swing his sword faster than the elf could shoot, or at least startle the warrior by his sudden charge, but whatever the Man's thinking it did him no good. Smyth leapt forward, swinging his sword and yelling out in fear and anger. The elf archer did not even bother firing his bow, as Smyth charged the elf, the immortal ducked under the Man's sword, unnotching his arrow as he came up and jabbed the arrowhead into Smyth's neck.

Smyth fell to the floor, his hands coming up to his neck as he choked on his own blood. Amid the dying, sputtering coughs of Smyth, the elf turned to look at Nem and the dagger was pressed harder to the dwarf's neck. "Stop, or he dies."

Stalemate again, but Kili was not going to stand idly by again. He brought up his bound hands, grasping the dagger by the blade with his fingers, nicking himself in the process but it provided enough of a distraction for the elf.

Legolas fired his second arrow, hitting Nem in the arm and two elf swordsmen rushed forward, one grabbing the Man while the other wrestled Kili out of his grasp.

"Bind him and take him before my father, take the dwarf to the healers. I want an armed guard on Prince Kili at all times, at no time is he to be out of anyone's sight."

Kili was grateful with gentle fingers pried the gag out of his mouth, and untied the ropes that had dug into his flesh. A water skin was put to his mouth and Kili drank slowly, letting the cool water refresh his parched throat.

When the nearest elf picked him up Kili did not complain, instead he allowed his head to fall against the armored shoulder and his eyes drifted shut.

{_Bard_}

The dwarf prince had been found, but his state was a sorry one and the elf healers were working hard on saving his leg. Bard knew little of the details, but he knew the leg wound had become infected and had required re-cutting in order to be drained. The healer Bard had spoken to was skeptical that Kili would be able to walk again without a limp, there had just been too much damage to the leg though time and the sturdiness of the dwarves would tell if the wound would mend without causing further pain.

Evening stretched across Dale and Bard was weary in mind and body. He had not been sleeping well, his dreams, such as they were, returning to the night he had faced Smaug. And many restless moments he had spent tossing in his bed, worrying about his people and the approaching altercation with the dwarves. At least Kili was safe now, and Thranduil's justice had been swift and sure.

Nem, as the Man had identified himself, was swinging from a tree, his face well known to the commoners of Lake-town as a slaver and one who had taken family members of those who had spoken against the master in order quiet them. To the cries of these torn families Nem had sneered, denying the whereabouts of their husbands, wives or children, and mocking their pain with derisive laughs. The people had cried for his death and Bard and Thranduil had agreed, the mercenary's body now swayed in the breeze by the road and was seen by the gray clad pilgrim who rode by that way.

Bard saw the traveler enter the city and though his curiosity was piqued he was not worried. The beggar dressed man was unknown to him, but Bard noted the way the elves let him enter the city and how they moved out of his way. Whoever the man was, he had the elves' respect and that definitely counted as a good thing.

"Who's in charge here?" The gray haired man, holding a gnarled wood staff in one hand, asked as he dismounted his horse.

"Welcome to Dale," Bard said, moving to greet the man. "I am Bard, lord of Dale, and I and king Thranduil are holding this city together for the time being."

The man's blue eyes measured Bard, and the dragonslayer had the feeling that standing before him was no ordinary man. "Are you indeed? Well then, Lord Bard, conduct me to King Thranduil immediately, I bear ill news that will not be pleasantly accepted but must be heard all the same."

"And you are?" Bard asked, not overly impressed with the man's manners.

"I?" The man took a moment to recollect himself, as if he needed time to remember who he was. "I am Gandalf the Grey."

**AN: So like it? Hate it? Should I rewrite it? Thoughts and critique appreciated. **

**Also, I'm going to start a poll to see who everyone is who is reading this. Are you an elf, man, hobbit or dwarf? Maybe you're an Istari? Let me know in a review please.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Free Peoples' of Middle-Earth reading this story:**

**Elf – 1**

**AN: Still looking for beta reader, anyone interested? Also, I made this chapter nice and long to make up for the delay in updating. **

{_Bard_}

The arrival of the wizard, as Bard later learned what the gray pilgrim was called, was not the highlight of the evening, as the Man thought it would be. Had Bard been a side participant, he might have found the conversation between King Thranduil and Gandalf entertaining, for the two immortals were experts in mastering words at a level Bard knew he would never reach. Although the elf and the wizard showed respect to one another for their positions it was clear they did not like one another.

Thranduil was at ease, but it was such a relaxed position that Bard could not help but think that it was forced. Gandalf was the opposite; he was harried and moved about the tent, like the wind that heralds the approach of a thunderous storm. These two imposing figures battered words between them, the wizard bringing word of incoming horde of orcs and goblins, and the elf calling it all a bluff to swing the attention of the elves and men away from Gandalf's precious dwarves.

Bard was not sure what to believe, but he found himself giving support to his ally rather than to this ragged dressed wizard who appeared elderly but whose eyes belied the power concealed within.

The conversation was not getting anywhere, and all three knew it. The wizard paused, looking at both the elf king and the elven dressed Man before him. "I had not thought to see you outside your forest, King Thranduil," Gandalf said at last, his face revealing his puzzlement at this move by the elf. " Is it not rather unusual for you to be so involved in the doings of others?"

Thranduil raised an eyebrow, "Is it so unusual to give aid to one's neighbor in times of trouble, Mithrandir? I can see where you would be confused though. A wizard is always ready to poke his nose in others' affairs; I've found, and stir up trouble where there was none previous to be had. I had wondered by the dwarves chose now to come reclaim Erebor but your presence has answered that question." Thranduil's eyes narrowed, "It is a pity you cared more about Thorin Oakenshield gaining possession of the Arkenstone than you did about the consequences waking a dragon could, and did, have." Thranduil stood to his full height, staring down at the wizard who was leaning on his staff, "I rode from Mirkwood because an angry dragon had been awoken by your foolish dwarves and it was laying waste to lake-town. Smaug would have been on my forest as soon as the town of Men was destroyed as you well known he would have had had not Lord Bard here slain him. I heard the cries of help from my neighbors and I heeded their call, giving aid in everyway I could to ensure the survival of those who had escaped and now I am helping them claim what was promised to them. Dale will never be more than a refugee camp if its people are unable to use the gold Thorin promised them to restore this city to what it once was." Bard watched as the elf's eyes slid to look at him before returning to the wizard, "Of course this was your master plan all along, was it not? The dwarves reclaim Erebor, a descendent of Lord Girion rebuilds Dale and an alliance between them and the elves of Mirkwood makes the north a stronghold of the free peoples of Middle-Earth once again."

Listening to Thranduil's words, Bard felt like a chess piece and it was a horrible feeling. To think that someone was moving him about and manipulating events in order for him to be where they wanted him to be. Looking at the wizard, Bard was more inclined than ever to side with the elf lord, who seemed to distain being used for another's goal almost as much as the Man did. Gandalf did not take kindly to the elf king's words and seemed about to make a rebuttal when a small figure appeared at the entrance of Thranduil's war tent and everyone's attention was understandably shifted.

Bilbo Baggins walked into the tent, trying to appear confident and sure of himself but Bard saw right through him. The Halfling was wet, cold and looked like he was stabbing his best friend in the back, which, as Bilbo started speaking, Bard realized he was. The unveiling of the Arkenstone was another surprise but while the Man acknowledged its uniqueness and exceptional beauty, incomparable to any jewels Bard had seen before, still he was perplexed at how the dwarves could value it so much as to settle their lineage and the price of one of their richest kingdoms on it. Perhaps it was simply in the nature of the dwarves to do so, or perhaps Bard was too simple-minded to see the Arkenstone as anything other than the means to ensure his peoples' survival.

{_Thranduil_}

The elf king was irked when Mithrandir appeared, his heart clenching at the dismissive way the wizard acted to Lord Bard's position or his peoples' plight. It reminded Thranduil all too painfully of the white wizard's actions when he had encouraged the elf to lead his people against that dragon years ago. Like a fool, Thranduil had allowed himself to be manipulated by Saruman and lead his people up the Gundabad Mountain, his warrior queen at his side. The dragon had been slain but at what a heavy cost. Thranduil remembered all too clearly how he had lain among the blood spattered rocks, holding his dying wife in his arms, his face half burnt off and the wounded dragon bellowing flames at the elf warriors who rushed to defend their beloved rulers from further harm. Only when the dragon had been greatly wounded had Saruman, then a gray wizard, stepped in to deliver the killing blow, earning his white robed status.

Thranduil had felt cheated, betrayed and never more was Saruman allowed to enter Mirkwood, though after the wizard gained control of Orthanc he had little interest to go anywhere else as it was. The elf king knew there was a staggering amount of difference between Saruman and Gandalf, none of the wizards were alike after all, but Thranduil found he could never be quite as welcoming to the Istari as he had in the past and the wandering wizards learned to avoid his halls after his stony welcomings failed to soften with the passing of years.

The arrival of the Halfling was a welcomed distraction, and with it the Arkenstone was offered as a means to once again try to peacefully claim the promised gold for Bard's people. For the stone would be their only bargaining chip, as Thranduil refused to use the injured dwarven prince and he was pleased when Bard agreed with him.

When the meeting broke for night Thranduil stepped from his war tent and strode towards the healers' tent. He had seen the young dwarf when his son, Legolas, had brought him in, and the elf king had been disturbed by Kili's pale features and bloodied leg. Never before had a prisoner come to such harm while in Thranduil's custody and the elven king had readily agreed with Bard on how the Man, Nem, should be executed for his crimes. Even for all his watchfulness over Lake-town, Thranduil had completely missed the slavery being employed by the corrupt Masters who used Men like Nem to silence those who opposed them.

"_Adar_," Thranduil raised his head to see Legolas, his pride and joy, the only thing that kept him from sailing, coming towards him.

"_My son_," Thranduil allowed a brief smile in his son's direction, the only emotion he would show towards Legolas in public. "_You are coming to see me_?"

"_The dwarf has awoken, and I know you wanted to speak with him as soon as he had_."

"_Did Healer Enerdhil give an accounting of his injuries_?"

Legolas fell into step beside his father and king, "_Aye, adar, he did. Young Kili's leg that was originally injured was heavily infected and the healers thought at first they might have to amputate. However, with the use of athelas they were able to hold the infection and what remains of it is slowly being expelled. His body is badly bruised, the signs of a beating, and he was not fed or given water for quite some time. As of now the healers are uncertain if he will walk without a limp, if the leg is held still for the next week he has a chance but it is slim."_

Thranduil's eyes tightened as they neared the healers' tent, "_So much pain and suffering, and for what? A mountain full of gold and gems_?"

Legolas looked at him, his blue eyes, so like his father's, "_You will leave then? Leave Lord Bard and his people to fend for themselves rather than storm the mountain_?"

Thranduil shook his head, "_We elves have invested far too much in this cause to simply pull out now and leave_." The elf king looked at the lonely mountain, "_There will be no bloodshed tomorrow, not if I or Lord Bard have anything to say about it. As much as it pains me to say, we will need the dwarves in Erebor in our future, with them on one side and us on the other, Dale will become even greater than it was before. The wizard Mithrandir has come with grave tidings, a storm of war brewing over Dol Guldur. I have brushed his warnings aside for now, for we must focus on breaching Thorin's defenses tomorrow and reaching an agreement between our three peoples as quickly as possible. Once that is done we shall turn to rooting out the spiders and buildings the defenses of our lands against whatever army the darkness throws at us_."

Thranduil knew, as Gandalf did, that the north was vulnerable in its current state, and, as much as the elf king detested the White Council, they were right to believe that Sauron would return one day.

Walking into the tent, Legolas led his father to a partitioned off area where Kili had been taken. Two guards were on duty on the other side, watching over the dwarf and on the alert for anyone coming in. They bowed to Thranduil and Legolas as the royal elves enter and the guards left at a signal from their king.

Kili had looked up at their entrance, his bearing weary but his eyes were alert. Seeing the elf king before him, Kili struggled to raise himself up by his arms, wishing to show respect to the immortal as well as not to be seen as the bedraggled invalid he knew he was.

"At ease, young Kili," Thranduil said, taking a seat on the chair by the dwarf's bed. "You have more than earned a rest this night." Thranduil took in a few of the exposed bruises, shown by the loose shirt the dwarf was wearing, "You were beaten?"

"I tried to escape," Kili said, his voice not quite back to its strength. "It was foolish, I know, but I did not know if you would rescue me and they were going to sell me into slavery."

Legolas took position behind his father, his eyes, once having looked on this same dwarf with disdain, were now soft and compassionate.

On rescuing him, Thranduil had naught to say but he did have quite a bit on other matters to speak about. "You are no longer my prisoner, nephew of Thorin." The dwarf was surprised, and then anger shown in his eyes, Thranduil spoke before Kili could. "You were taken while under my protection, and your previous injury was worsened to the point were you may be crippled for life now. You cannot be moved back to your people now, but I swear on my honor, if you will accept my word, that once the healers have deemed your leg strong enough, you will be brought back to your people."

The keen gaze of the elf king saw the shimmer of water in the dwarf's eyes, but Kili did not let them fall and Thranduil did not comment.

"May I have your hand on that, King Thranduil?" Kili asked, outstretching his uninjured arm towards the blonde elf.

Thranduil, not ignorant of dwarf customs, knew the importance of taking an offered hand as a sign of accepting the word given by another.

The elf king took the smaller hand in his own, the dwarf's hand was brown while the elf's was fair but the grip between the two was strong.

{_Bard_}

After the day he had had, Bard was grateful to finally be heading to his home. Approaching the house of his ancestors, Bard could see at least two of the guards Thranduil had assigned to his family standing in shadowed corners from the range of the torchlight. Reaching the door, Bard hesitated upon hearing a voice, light and unlike anything he had heard before, singing a song in the elvish tongue.

Stepping as lightly as he could, Bard opened the door to his home and walked inside. Because of the approaching winter and damage to the second floor, only two of the rooms on the first floor had been readied for use. One was the kitchen and the other was where the family would be sleeping, with a sizable fireplace that put the one in their previous home to shame. The fire was crackling over the wood at a steady pace; its blaze larger than Bard had ever dared have it in Lake-town save on the bitterest cold of nights. Sigrid and Tilda were sharing a large cot, while another bed was large enough for Bain and Bard nearby. Sitting on a chair between the two beds was none other than Thranduil's auburn haired captain, Tauriel.

The elf was singing, a melody Bard found familiar though he was sure he had never heard it before. One of her pale hands was carding gently through Tilda's hair, as the elf bent slightly over her as her voice filled the room with a lullaby. The girls were fast asleep, as was Bain, much to Bard's amusement. Bain had protested being sung to sleep when he was ten, but it appeared even the boy was powerless against the singing magic of the elves.

Tauriel looked up at Bard, her cheeks gaining a tinge of pink that the Man was sure the heat from the fire had caused, he found the effect quite mesmerizing. Ending her song, the elf stood and soundlessly walked over to him. Bard motioned her to follow him into the kitchen, allowing the blanket that was partitioned between the two rooms to fall back into place. The almond shaped eyes looked at him, and Bard, now closer to Tauriel than he had been before, remarked inwardly that her beauty, while not obvious at first glance, was indeed surreal to the eyes of Man.

"How often have you done that?" Bard asked, having noted how at ease the she-elf had been by his children, singing them to sleep.

Tauriel dipped her head, "You pardon, Lord Bard, but when you were brought injured from Lake-town your daughters were very distraught, especially little Tilda. They would not settle, worried as they were for you, and so I sang a lullaby King Thranduil used to sing me when I had trouble resting. This evening Sigrid came to find me, saying that Tilda could not sleep because every time she closed her eyes the little one could see the dragon burning Lake-town." Bard looked in the direction of the bed chamber, feeling like a failure for not thinking that of course his children, for he did not believe Tilda had been alone in that, were still haunted by the night Smaug had come. "I hope you do not mind, but I came to sing and ease her troubled mind to rest."

"Mind?" Bard looked at the elf, who was, surprisingly, a little shorter than him, "Of course I do not mind. If you can help them sleep without nightmares I will gladly ask you to come every night to sing them to slumber's rest. Were I not lord of Dale I would spend all day with them, helping them, but I cannot forsake everyone else and there are few to whom I can delegate certain tasks."

Tauriel nodded, a slight smile on her lips, "I understand, Lord Bard, I was raised by King Thranduil and know full well how he would have preferred to spend more time with me and Legolas than seeing too some tedious affairs his councilmen would bring to his attention. Dale needs you now, but I can promise you that once things settle you will have time to spend with your family. Until then I can do what I can. Perhaps I know better than any of my kin how troubled young minds can be when they see the ugliness wrought on this world by the shadow of evil." Tauriel paused, now seemingly becoming aware of how close she was to Bard, since both of them had been whispering in an attempt not to disturb the pleasant dreams of three sleeping in the other room. The female archer bowed, "Until tomorrow, Lord Bard."

"Wait," Bard called, just as the captain made it to the door. "King Thranduil is not your father, but he raised you?"

"My parents were killed when I was a child. They hid me when orcs attacked us while we traveled from Rivendell to Mirkwood. King Thranduil found me, and against the wishes of his council for taking in a Silvan elf, he raised me alongside Prince Legolas, and despite my humble bloodline he has always looked upon me as a daughter."

The door opened and closed, leaving Bard alone as Tauriel stepped out into the night and disappeared.

Moving back to the bedchamber, Bard changed shirts before crawling into bed beside Bain. The word Silvan meant nothing to the Man, but it appeared to mean everything to Tauriel and perhaps it explained the indifferent tolerance she received from her fellow captains. Closing his eyes, Bard drifted off to sleep rather quickly, the elvish lullaby still drifting through the rafters of his home.

**AN: There will be more Thranduil/Legolas scenes to come; the one in this chapter is really just a teaser isn't it? **


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Sorry for the long wait, my glasses broke so I had to repair them and then my muse took a vacation, and then….Well, you get the idea.**

**Warnings: Slight Gandalf bashing. I like Gandalf but sometimes he frustrates me, especially in the Hobbit movies so that made it easy to bash him a little. Plus, I couldn't do the scene requested by **_**stn5**_** without bashing Gandalf a little. **

{_Thranduil_}

_This night is endless_, Thranduil reflected, walking out of his tent for the fourth time since sunset. He was restless, a strange feeling for one of his years to have but it stirred within him nonetheless. His restlessness irked and troubled him, for he could not shake the feeling that tomorrow would not be as easy as he had originally thought it to be.

The elf king walked through the quiet streets, heading for the ramparts where he could overlook the intended battlefield once again. His people and Men, sleeping what hours they could before the dawn came, united in a common cause that promised to forge a union of friendship that would last for several years. This was Thranduil's wish, to make Mirkwood and its surrounding allies strong, for he knew not when he would sail and all must be prepared for when Legolas took the crown.

Would that it were day.

The night air was still, the wind having died down a couple hours ago and a silent calmness had settled over the countryside. It was a sham though, this stillness, making one think all was peaceful when in reality a drawn back bow strong waited to be let loose. The far off dawn would bring a shattering to this pretentious quiet when the war trumpets sounded.

The king's elven warriors stood along the wall, alert, and they gave him only the slightest of bows as he passed. Thranduil was not offended of course; these sentries had more important things to be focusing on paying homage to him. Coming to one of the gates, the elf king was surprised to see his only female captain, Tauriel, idly checking the arrows in her quiver as a small smile lit her face and her eyes held a far-off almost dreamy look. He paused, never before having seen such an expression on his adopted daughter's face and he wondered the cause of it.

"_You do not watched the stars tonight_?"  
She startled, looking up at him with a guilty countenance that amused him, "_My king?"_

"_Always, even when you were a child, you would gaze up at the stars whenever you were outside and I dubbed you my little stargazer_." Thranduil's tone turned admonishing, "_And I am not wearing my crown, fire of my eyes, there is no need to be so formal_."

She dipped her head, "_Forgive me, father_."

"_Such a request in unnecessary, my little firelight_," Thranduil murmured, a hand gently cupping her chin to bring her gaze up. "_My forgiveness is immediate in all affairs linked to my children. If it were not so I do believe you and Legolas would have fared far worse after pulling that fiasco in the kitchens two hundred years ago. I know the cooks have yet to forget it, for they still refuse to bake that delicious blackberry pie of which I was so fond of_."  
Tauriel smiled, "_Was_?"

"_Well, after having been denied even the smallest taste of it for two hundred years I find that I have quite forgotten why I used to like them so much_." Thranduil shook his head, "_I suppose the cooks thought it fitting to retaliate against me the only way they could since I was so light in my punishment on the both of you_."

Tauriel laughed, her eyes flashing in mock indignation, "_Light? Father you made us clean the kitchen from ceiling to floor, and scrub almost every stairway in the palace! Legolas and I could hardly stand up straight afterwards_." She narrowed her eyes in good humor, "_Then you scheduled us for training review the next day for a whole week_."

An imperial smirk graced Thranduil's face, "_And the cooks' domain has not been touched since and I have not been denied any other of my favorite foods, so I would say that it was a lesson well learned_." The elf king looked Tauriel over; noticing the drawn look that had become a permanent feature on her face since the spiders had increased their onslaught was now fading. "_Something is different about you tonight, my daughter_," he observed, and was amused to see her raise an eyebrow in complete imitation of him. "_There is a glow around you_," he clarified and found the sudden reddening of her cheeks a fascinating study.

Deciding to let the matter rest, for he sensed that she needed more time to understand her heart, Thranduil turned to look out across the plains leading to the gate of Erebor. "_I am leaving a contingent of archers to man the walls while I lead the rest of the army, along with Lord Bard to Oakenshield's broken keep_."

"_You expect trouble from another quarter, father_?"

"_There should not be, not with my finest warriors going up against twelve dwarves, yet my heart warns me to be cautious and not to trust how things appear. Mithrandir came with warnings of a storm, danger manifesting at Dol Guldur and so I would prefer my finest archers to defend the city should the tides turn against in the morn_." The elf king looked at her, his countenance stern but his eyes speaking of his love for her, "_I want you to take command of them_."  
Tauriel's almond shaped eyes widened in disbelief, "_You… You want me to stay behind_?"

"_I can trust to no one else this important task, Tauriel_," Thranduil assured her. "_It may very well come down to Dale needed to be defended, for not only has this city become a home for Lord Bard's people, but the women and children will remain behind when we march on Erebor, and they cannot be left defenseless_." He took her face in his hands, "_If the warnings in my heart ring true, there will be more will come to pass tomorrow than a short skirmish on Oakenshield's company. I need to know that the way back to Dale is clear, and that the city could not be safer in anyone else's hands than yours, my fire-gem_."

Tears of disappointment, that she could not ride beside her father and brother in the morning, prickled her eyes, yet Tauriel fought off her dark thoughts with Thranduil's words. She hoped that whatever the king feared to pass would not happen, but she knew the wisdom in being prepared and while Thranduil and Legolas struck with the sword she would be the shield, keeping Dale safe should the army need to return quickly. Reluctantly, Tauriel accepted her king's command and nodded her head. Thranduil smiled, bending her down so he could kiss her temple.

"_Come, Tauriel, let us rest before the dawn comes_."

Together, Thranduil and Tauriel descended from the wall and headed towards the king's tent. The elf king relished this peaceful time with his daughter, quietly walking side-by-side without needing to relay reports or strategize over the best way to clean out the spiders. These moments had become few and far between once Tauriel had started her training, and they had almost become non-existent when she had become a captain. Thranduil felt slightly guilty at having withdrawn from her life and not made time just to be with his daughter, not one of his captains. He had done so because Tauriel had needed to prove herself to the other captains, and Thranduil knew she would never gain their respect if it appeared she needed her surrogate father to hold her hand every step of the way.

Father and daughter passed near the war tent, and Thranduil stopped mid-step as he saw Legolas walk by an opened panel. Could neither of his children sleep on their own without him tucking them in personally? However, just as Thranduil was about to comment on this to Tauriel, he noticed a second shadow outline against a tent flap, the one holding a staff. Raising a hand, the elf king signaled to Tauriel to be silent and they walked quietly towards the war tent.

"Surely you have thought of traveling outside of Mirkwood, Prince Legolas? Seeing the Last Homely House of Lord Elrond? The shining white city of Gondor? Have you not thought of visiting Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel in Lothlorian, the Golden Wood is one of the few places in Middle-Earth that has not been touched by the changes of time. It is as it was when the Lady of Light and her husband first made it their home, a truly beautiful place to see." Thranduil narrowed his eyes at Mithrandir's words. "Even in the western north there are sights worth seeing amongst the wilds of Eriador and the lost realm of Arnor. The Dunedain, rangers of the north, have become legendary for their skill with the bow, I am sure they would welcome your company for the sons of Elrond ride frequently with them."

"I am a prince of Mirkwood, Mithrandir," Legolas replied, "I cannot just simply drop everything and leave on the whim for an adventure as your Halfling did. Yes, one day I would like to see other realms, especially those of elven kin, but I cannot leave my father and king while the threat of war hangs over this land. While spiders infest our woods my father will need every warrior of his army to rid our home of them."

"Yet surely your father does not think you can stay forever in Mirkwood? Even he journeyed around Middle-Earth when he was a prince. He even took part in the Last Alliance, after performing such great deeds he cannot begrudge you the chance to find your own path."

"Are you accusing me of holding my children back, Mithrandir?" Thranduil walked into the war tent, Tauriel following him. The old wizard leaned heavily on his staff at the king's entrance, and Legolas looked guiltily at his father though the elf king blamed him not. "Does the White Council think I keep my children locked away in a tower without any means to leave?" Thranduil's words were as sharp as steel, cutting through the air like a sword and Gandalf gathered his grey cloak about him like a shield but the elf was not fooled. "You mentioned the Last Alliance, what a glorious campaign were elves and men banded together against the Sauron, the victories and honor bestowed upon those who participated is always mentioned and remembered. The fallen are forgotten; the repercussions in the wake of the 'adventure' are glossed over in the history books, but not so in Mirkwood. We remember the fall of Oropher, the Men who betrayed us to the Enemy; even our elven kin were too busy arguing over the weakness of Isildur to aid us as we limped home. Did any of them come forward when my queen fell to a dragon and my face was burnt? Where were they when Smaug took residence here and kept elves and Men fearfully watching the skies for the past fifty years? The White Council," Thranduil's voice was full of contempt, "has far more loftier goals to pursue. The other realms are always requesting aid, but should I be in need myself they are too busy to come." Thranduil stepped towards Gandalf until he was looking down at the bent wizard, "Should either my son or daughter wish to travel I will give my blessing, yet I have made no secret of the fact that I prefer they stay here where they know no one will manipulate them or betray them. Sent by the Valar you might have been, Mithrandir, and I respect you for your power and the deeds you have performed, but try to turn my children against me again and Mirkwood shall be closed to not only you but all the rest of your kind, even the brown wizard." Thranduil turned away, placing a hand on his son's shoulder and another of his daughter's, "You should be worrying more about the fates of your dwarves and Halfling than poking your nose into my affairs."

The elf king steered his children out of the tent and it was now the middle of the night. Fury coiled within Thranduil, his anger, always so quick to ignite, was once again seeking an outlet but he wrestled for control. Neither of his children was to blame for Mithrandir's behavior, and he refused to take out his foul temper on them. Tauriel was leaning towards him, she had never expressed a wish to travel outside of Mirkwood though he had seen a yearning in her eyes that nothing in their home could satisfy. Legolas, on the other hand, had more of his mother's wandering spirit, and had often spoken of visiting places he had only read about.

Thranduil knew the day would come when his son would leave, and the elf king knew he could not stop him but that day was not here yet.

If only the morning would dawn and this wretched night end. Now the peaceful quiet was a mockery, the words spoken in the war tent left a bad taste in everyone's mouths, including Thranduil. The elf king had taken little pleasure in cutting Gandalf down like that, the Istar commanded respect but Thranduil found he had very little to give anymore, perhaps Gandalf's part in this affair with the dwarves was the reason.

Once in his tent, Thranduil bid both of his children good night and watched them depart for their own sections. The elf king poured himself a glass of wine, relishing in the taste as it drove the bitterness away and mellowed his dark thoughts. Gandalf would not be forgiven for this, but Thranduil's anger had cooled and his stormy blue eyes had calmed. No wizard's life would be threatened this night, and Radagast would keep his home.

If only morning would come, and with it the end of this sordid adventure of Gandalf's making.

**AN: Thoughts, anyone? Who liked the Thranduil/Tauriel bonding? Hope to get a longer chapter out next time, as that's when the fighting will start. **


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Thanks to **_**stn5**_** for the idea for the beginning of this chapter. **

**Free-folk of Middle-earth reading this story:**

**Elf- 1**

**Who else is an elf? Who's a dwarf, Man or wizard?**

**Friendly Dragon: Thanks for the review!**

{_Thranduil_}

The crack of dawn was announced with a blare of trumpets and the beat of drums. The call to arms roused Dale from a sleeping town into a the flurry of activity of a war camp, Men and elves scrambled from blankets to dress in armor and grad their weapons. Women kindled fires and warmed up stew for the soldiers to grab a quick bowl before reporting to their stations. Children solemnly stayed out of the way and watched with wide eyes as spear tips caught the rising light and sheathing swords rang in their ears.

Thranduil was fully dressed in his armor, a circlet of silver on his head, when he left his tent, a sword swinging from his belt. He caught a glimpse of Legolas and Tauriel disappearing through the crowded market square, no doubt on their way to first check in with their contingents before reporting to the war council.

It was just as well that his children were not there, for when Thranduil entered the war tent Gandalf was the only one present. The gray robed Istari was looking down at the table, pushing a map out of the way with one finger and looking at the battle plans the elvish captains had drawn up. The new day seemed to have refreshed the old wizard, he was no longer bent as an elderly man's would be, and his gray robes did not appear quite as tattered as they did the night before.

Thranduil found that his ire towards the gray wizard had not dissipated at all during the night, the words spoken still burned at old wounds not yet healed.

"Lord Thranduil," Gandalf said, noticing the elf king's entrance.

"Mithrandir," Thranduil moved to the side table, pouring himself a glass of water and lamenting the fact that it was too early for wine. "What will you try to take from me today? My crown? Deny me my right to take back my wife's jewels? Perhaps you will spirit my daughter away in some misguided, foolish notion to betroth her to one of Oakenshield's heirs?"

Thranduil spoke jestingly, but upon seeing the look in Gandalf's eyes the elf faltered, "No."

"An alliance between kings, Lord Thranduil," Gandalf suggested. "Long has it been the custom to use the wedding bond as a way of solidifying alliances between kingdoms."

"There has never been a union between elf and dwarf," Thranduil said, his tone darkening with barely concealed anger. "If elves and dwarves were meant to bond in such a way it would have happened long before this day. It has not happened, Mithrandir, because no such union would ever be sanctioned elves, men, or dwarves. Not even the Valar or Eru himself would look with favor upon it."

"The dwarves are as alive as you or I, they are not some misshapen ill-bred form of life as the orcs—"

"They are not children of Eru!"

Both the wizard and elf stood in silence after Thranduil's shout, the sounds outside the tent quieting for a few moments before resuming. Thranduil could tell by the look on Gandalf's face that the gray wizard had not thought of that fact. Being made as he had been, Gandalf had a connection with all of Middle-earth, bar Sauron's ilk, and so in his quest to bring elves and dwarves closer the gray-haired wizard had forgotten that there was a larger gap between elves and dwarves than there was between elves and Men. Men, though mortal, at least shared with elves the same maker and had been destined to walk Middle-earth, unlike the dwarves whom Eru had almost smote down upon finding them.

The elf king turned from Gandalf in disgust, "First my son, and now my daughter. What have I done to you, Mithrandir, that makes you seek to tear my family from me?"

"I beg your pardon, Lord Thranduil," Gandalf leaned on his staff, "it was not my intent to make you feel so. Your family is strong and despite your daughter's humble birth I can tell that Tauriel is as much your child as Legolas is. Would it were possible to ignore what I have seen, but I fear there is more tied to your son than him simply leaving home, the very fate of Middle-earth may rest upon it."

That did not sit well with Thranduil at all. He despised seers, one of the reasons why his relationships with Elrond and Galadriel were so frosty. Some thought him jealous that he had not been given the gift of foresight as well, but Thranduil was not that petty. He saw the ability to see the future as a curse, as well as giving the people who had it an excuse to interfere with others' lives.

"What have you seen?" The elf king found himself asking, his fatherly instincts needing to know the possible path his son might take.

To Thranduil's surprise, Gandalf answered his question, "I have seen your son walk beside one of the Dunedain, and call him brother. He stands beside the ranger before a throne of white marble, and I have seen them before the gates of Mordor itself, facing a great army of orcs, goblins and trolls."

"Mordor lies in ruins," Thranduil whispered.

"For now," Gandalf's voice was almost as soft, a promise of doom should his words not be heeded.

The white marble throne was obviously Gondor, even though it had been ages since Thranduil had stepped foot in the White City he remembered the throne room well. "My son shall look upon Isildur's heir as a brother." Thranduil caught Gandalf' startled gaze and scoffed, "Do not look so surprised, Mithrandir, I know the boy yet lives. I saw him the last time I was in Rivendell, he was but a lad of seven years then but Elrond imparted the true lineage of his _Estel_ to me and Lady Galadriel."

Thranduil gazed out of the war tent, looking at the Lonely Mountain that loomed before them. "You will not speak of any of this to Legolas, nor any of the things said last night. If my son is to leave me let him to it because it is what he wants, because it is the choice he makes on his own without any influence from you or me. I will guide him, but he was must choose the path."

The conversation ended there, much to the relief of the elf king and the wizard. The captains started arriving soon after, and with them Legolas, Tauriel and Lord Bard. Tauriel and Legolas flanked Thranduil without a word, they ignored Gandalf, who drifted to the back of the meeting and their father wondered if they had spoken together of what had happened the night before. They stood by him, the feeling that they always would warmed Thranduil as no fire ever could.

Throughout the final preparations, Thranduil noticed that Lord Bard was also not acting as his usual, mistrustful self. The Man was a little wary, to be sure, but there seemed to be a new found respect in his eyes and tone when he spoke to Thranduil and the elf king noticed that he and Tauriel looked often at one another and would avert their gazes as soon as they noticed that the other was looking. To be sure this was a matter to be addressed after the dwarves had been dealt with.

When the meeting concluded and the captains were dismissed to go to their posts, Thranduil did not immediately go to his horse. There was no great hurry to do so, for Thranduil knew Lord Bard would want to talk to his children before they departed, and the elf king also had one more person to talk to before the combined forces of Mirkwood and Dale marched on Erebor. He turned towards the tent of the healers, his feet finding the way to the partitioned off area where young Kili had been put without a problem.

"You are going to attack now?" Kili whispered, trying valiantly to hide the fear in his eyes but Thranduil saw it anyway.

"Thanks to the Halfling, we have the means to try once more to make your uncle see reason."

"You do not think it will work though." Thranduil tilted his head at the young dwarf's perceptiveness.

"The sickness I have seen take your ancestors time and again is not easily thrown off. There were those of Durin's line who were strong enough to resist the luring call of gold from taking over them, but in no other dwarf had I seen it as bad as in your great-grandfather Thror. It could be the Arkenstone that was responsible, though I believe the stone itself has no power as the ones forged in tales of old, yet its own unique beauty could have been the tipping point for King Thror that ensnared him. Your uncle and many in the company grew up in the mountain, surrounded by that wealth every day. Suddenly bereft of it, they had to live by any means necessary and as a people without a home they had little to offer in exchange for they need to survive. Now your uncle has his wealth back, enough gold to lay a road of gold coins from here to Gondor, if not beyond, yet he must part with a portion of it for Dale. Though the people of Lake-town aided your Company, I think your uncle will only think of how the Master of that town was willing to take in the people of Dale but not the dwarves for fear that the dragon would burn them down for doing so. We have the Arkenstone, the stone that became the birthright of Thrain's line, and the 'supposed' theft of it may push your uncle further into the gold madness."

Kili worried a lip between his teeth before looking at Thranduil with pleading eyes,

"Please don't hurt him." The uninjured hand reached the for elf king in supplication,

"Don't kill any of them, I beg you."

Thranduil placed his hand over the dwarf prince's, "Hear me, Prince Kili, I swear that no elf or Man under my and Lord Bard's command will take a dwarf life today. No dwarf blood will be drawn by elven blades this morn. Their egos and skin may be bruised as we may need to use force to subdue them, but it is not their lives I seek to take."

The promise made, Kili lay back to rest and worry while Thranduil stood and left the healers' tent. He made his way quickly to the gate where the army was assembled and saw that Lord Bard was mounting his horse, his children standing as close to Tauriel as they could while watching their father. Thranduil took ahold of his own horse and was swiftly on its back, coming beside Lord Bard to stand at the head of the column. Looking briefly at the Man beside him, Thranduil nodded to show that he was ready and then gave the order to move out.

{_Bard_}

His children did not cry, and for that Bard was thankful. He knew if he had seen even the smallest hint of tears on little Tilda's face he would not have been able to ride out. Sigrid and Bain stood tall, the short sword strapped to his son's waist looked longer than it really was and heavier than the lad could reach but Bard knew Bain would be able to wield it. Tilda looked so serious, her eyes taking in the elves and Men fully armored and armed as well as their stern expressions.

Tauriel stood near them, one hand on Tilda's shoulder as Bard stepped away to mount his horse. He had gotten practice in the past couple of days and could now mount and ride more confidently than he could that first day. Glancing down from his horse, Bard's eyes briefly met Tauriel's almond shaped ones and he watched the elf captain pull little Tilda in closer, Sigrid and Bain shifting along with the motion almost subconsciously. The unspoken words were clear, they would listen to Tauriel, and she would protect them with all her might. Bard could ask nothing more of her or them, nor would he want to.

These past few days had been so different for the once bargeman. He smiled almost wistfully, how long ago it seemed he had traveled up and down the river on his barge, wishing for a better life for his children but not thinking he would ever be able to get it with the Master breathing down his neck. Now, he was Lord of Dale and in charge of more people than he had ever been before, riding off to confront a gold sickened dwarf with an army of elves at his back.

Bard would have laughed at the person who suggested a year ago that this day would come to pass. It seemed too unbelievable, claiming the inheritance that had been denied his line since the fall of Dale, yet it was happening, and the city would once again be as it was in the songs he had heard. The responsibility scared him; being in charge of so much so quickly yet taking King Thranduil's suggestion to delegate and form a council had worked wonders and Bard no longer felt as if all of Middle-earth was set on his shoulders.

Risking a glance at Thranduil, Bard noticed that the elf king looked deep in thought. Having listened to Tauriel's story the night before, Bard had found his opinion of the seemingly haughty elf changing. It seemed Thranduil had a habit of aiding others, of taking in orphans and providing for them. He was really doing for the survivors of Lake-town what he had down for Tauriel, seeing to their hurts and finding them a sturdy home in which they could prosper. Although Bard would remain wary, still convinced that some sort of repayment might be demanded, he would trust the elf king and stand by him.

Upon reaching the point where they were just out of bowman range, Bard and Thranduil called Thorin to parley once more and everything went downhill from there.

First, Thorin did not react well to seeing the Arkenstone in Bard's grasp, as Thranduil had warned could happen, and the cursing that followed from the dwarves in common and their own language was not wholly unexpected. Then the Halfling had to speak up and claim responsibility, no doubt hoping to calm everyone down but all he did was incite Oakenshield's wrath all the more. Bard yelled out angrily when the dwarf king held tiny Bilbo Baggins dangling over the ramparts. The Man was surprised when even Thranduil paled and made a motion as if to dismount as the Halfling cried and begged Thorin, his friend, to come back to his senses.

For a tense moment it seemed to all that Thorin Oakenshield really would throw Bilbo off the wall, and none of them would have been able to stop him save for the dwarfish Company, who stood in dumb shock along the rampart. The booming voice of Gandalf made Bard jump, but whatever hope he felt at seeing the wizard, of thinking that surely Thorin would not go against this being who was clearly angered, disappeared almost as soon as it rose. True Thorin released Bilbo, allowing the Halfling to climb down a rope to join Gandalf's side, but he could not be reasoned with and instead declared war on all them.

War seemed too strong a term to Bard, there were twelve dwarves on the wall after all and they hardly posed a threat to the massive army of elves and Men standing before their door. Of course Bard realized that even though Thorin might be under the spell of gold it did not mean that he was entirely foolish, and the Man knew this when he saw the army of dwarves approaching them. Some days it was just simply not worth it to get out of bed.

Bard had never heard of Dain Ironfoot before, he did not know Thorin had had a cousin who was ruler of the Iron Hills nor had he known that Dain was rather fond of his younger cousin. Listening to the mixture of outrage and sarcasm that poured from the red haired dwarf's mouth made Bard almost laugh, the situation was practically ludicrous were it not so dire. Despite the reinforcements Thorin had gained, Dain was cut off from joining those in Erebor and the elves still outnumbered everyone.

Bard's horse shifted, it's actions reflecting the Man's mood. Now they had more dwarves to contend with, and Thranduil's and Bard's agreed battle strategy that no dwarf was to be killed or grievously hurt was not going to work now, every elf and Man could see that. The dwarves certainly would have no hesitation to hacking off a few limbs, be they elves of Men, it would make no difference to them at the lives lost for they thought themselves in the right for defending their mountain against the would-be invaders.

Just as Dain was about to give the order to charge was when the last unexpected thing happened. Coming up behind the dwarves, practically on their heels was a horde of goblins and wargs, and swarming above them like a great dark storm cloud was an army of bats. These common foes of all the free people of Middle-earth were exactly what was needed to defuse the situation that almost led to bloodshed between the dwarves, elves and Men.

Bard would remark later how amazing it was to see the dwarves quickly join the ranks of his and Thranduil's army, willingly standing beside the very ones they had been jeering at only minutes before. Dain followed Thranduil's ideas on strategy, seeming to know he had no time to war verbally over positions or who was leading. One thousand and seven hundred allied troops stood prepared for the onslaught, elvish archers took position on Ravenhill to provide cover from above and soon the goblins' rabble was descending on them.

The bats were the worst, Bard decided, ducking to avoid the claws of several that screeched as they dove past him. He worked his horse in between the ranks, calling out encouragement to his men when he saw them, and noting how the elf archers did their best to bring the bats down. Arrows rained all around, only the expert aiming of Legolas' contingent keeping any allies from being hit as not a single shaft went astray.

The goblins and wargs were now fighting against the elves, men and dwarves, the large beasts crashing against shields in an attempt to break through defenses. The goblins screeched, yelling something about revenge for their king and going after the dwarves in particular. While Dain's soldiers did not like being so singled out it did give the elves and Men the opportunity to strike the goblins when they were thus distracted.

Bard was too busy to notice at first, his sword almost all black by the amount of goblin blood that stained the blade, but when he turned to call for more troops to strength his position he saw it. A legion of goblins and wargs had broken off from the main force, heading towards Dale at full speed. Had they smelled the women and children?

"Thranduil!" Bard shouted, wheeling his horse about, his eyes searching for the elf king. Spotting him, Bard shouted again, finally gaining Thranduil's attention, "They're trying to cut us off from the city!"

Without looking back to see what Thranduil would do, Bard yelled for all those near him to follow as fast as they could. Spurring his horse into a gallop, Bard broke through the battling armies and headed for the city, his heart leaping in his throat as he watched from the distance as arrows from Tauriel's archers streamed down from the walls on the goblins and wargs, but the handful of elves and Men left behind were not enough to keep the Enemy out.

Bard saw the goblins and wargs break through a section of the wall that had crumbled under the weight of Smaug years ago and the wind howled with the screams of frightened children. He yelled out in fear and anger, willing his horse to go faster but then he heard screeching above him, Looking over his shoulder, Bard saw six bats diving down at him, their fangs and claws as sharp as any sword and all pointed towards him.

**AN: I am going to try, try, try not to take so long with the next update! Tell me what you thought, any ideas you think might add to the story, any scenes you're looking forward to. Also, still looking for a beta reader. **


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: Hello there, remember me?**

**FD: Lol, I hope this chapter was worth the wait.**

**Elf – 1**

**Is there seriously only one elf reading this story? No dwarves? No men? No wizard or halflings?**

{_Thorin_} **It's about time he got a point-of-view, eh?**

Thorin staggered against the ramparts, watching the chaos unfolding before him about the valley. Looking upon his kin fighting alongside Men and elves awakened something within the dwarf king, his warrior spirit fighting against the golden haze that had descended around him since coming into the mountain. The anger he had felt towards Thranduil and Bard faded away, the betrayal he had felt at Bilbo's actions drifted to the back of his mind, the madness that had made him disregard his own nephew being held as a hostage by the elves melted before him.

Dwarves were dying, as were elves and Men. They fought valiantly, yes, but the goblin horde was numerous, and the elves, swift as they were, could not turn fast enough all the time to avoid the bite of a sword. The dwarves, sturdy and hard, were not invulnerable to the sharp teeth of the wargs. The Men, an odd assortment of fishermen and soldiers, were giving their all, but the bats swarmed above them with much screeching and dove at them with fangs and claws that tore through their flesh with ease.

"Are we to do nothing?" Fili asked, his hands tightly holding onto his weapons. "Our kin are dying before our gates and we stand here doing nothing!"

The rest of the Company was silent, even Dwalin and Balin had nothing to say. None of them would move without the order from Thorin, but half of Fili's heart was a prisoner in Dale and Thorin could tell that his oldest nephew was not going to stay still any longer. He had been a fool thrice over, to leave Kili behind in first place, and then to not give in when Bard came to parley. There was enough gold inside the mountain to last Dale and Erebor for many years and generations, to horde it, as his grandfather had done, made bile rise in Thorin's throat and he fought it back.

With a shout of anger, Thorin drew his sword, startling his Company. "Draw your weapons, sons of Durin! We fight for our land and our kin! We fight to drive this rotten filth from Erebor and Dale once and for all!"

It was easy to knock down the barricade from within, and once it was down Thorin Oakenshield, king of Erebor, led his Company out into the fray.

{_Thranduil_}

The elf king had not expected this, any of this really, but definitely not fighting beside dwarves as elves had done in years gone by. While he had been certain once Dain had shown up that bloodshed would run between elf, man and dwarf, and indeed it was, Thranduil was just relieved to see that free peoples of Middle-Earth were not killing each other. No, a common enemy had set aside the quarrel and now legions of goblins and wargs were clashing into the ranks of the newly formed alliance.

The fighting had started out well, the troops of Dain made excellent cover for the elf archers and spearmen. Legolas' contingent was making use of their high ground to pick off the bats from Ravenhill, but the swarm of angry goblins continued to come. The ugly creatures screeched and drove their warg mounts to crash through the ranks of elf, Man and dwarf, without thought of injury, but there was method to their madness for even though they fell the goblins cleared a path for those behind them.

Thranduil himself had not entered the fighting yet, needing to stay back so he could clearly see the battlefield. His sword hand itched to draw his blade though, to fight alongside his people and his heart ached when he saw each elf fall. It was in the middle that the ranks broke first, the enemy pouring through the gap made in the shield wall and Lord Bard took his honor guard to reinforce the area.

Dain was already in position at the left flank, the surly dwarf having left to take that position where his peoples' numbers were strongest before the fighting had started. Thranduil left him to it, knowing what he did of the Ironfoot's reputation as a warrior the elf king knew that the left flank was well protected. Gandalf and his Halfling were somewhere to the right, Thranduil caught flashes from the wizard's staff knocking bats from the sky.

From his position, the elf king saw the line of goblins and wargs heading for the right flank, the bats distracting the archers on Ravenhill so the ground troops could get into position. Thranduil quickly dispatched word for the right flank to be prepared but just as he did so the elf decided that now was as good a time as any to join the fight. Swinging his horse around, Thranduil rode in between the ranks of those soldiers who were currently being held in reserve, when a shout from the front drew his attention.

It was Lord Bard, calling to him and looking quite panicked.

"They're trying to cut us off from the city!" Was Bard's frantic cry, the words registering in the elf king's mind and he turned to look to where Dale lay.

There was indeed a column of wargs and goblins heading for Dale, going towards the women and children, running straight towards Tauriel.

Thranduil drew up hard on the reins, his horse protesting the movement but the elf king was deaf to all sound. The fight was being brought to Dale, to his daughter, his brave auburn haired captain, who only had a small contingent of archers to defend herself as well as everyone else in the city who was unarmed. They would not stand a chance, fierce fighters though the archers were, Thranduil had left that particular contingent behind for a reason, young as they were Tauriel's archers were more use to tree skirmishes and fighting spiders then city fighting.

Spurring his horse on, Thranduil called for the reinforcements to follow him, if they were cut off from Dale then it was finished. They would be caught in the valley with nowhere to go, for the elf king could not see Thorin, enslaved by the gold sickness as he was, opening the gates of Erebor. And even if he did, it would do those in Dale no good, it would not help Tauriel.

Signaling to one of his captains to take over the main battle group, Thranduil led the reserves towards Dale. Those on horses were quickly overtaking the soldiers who had followed Lord Bard, who was galloping his horse over the uneven ground way up ahead. Even as he watched, Thranduil could see the goblins and wargs break through a section of the wall and he spurred on his horse even faster. The elf king had never cursed his long-range hearing before, but he did so then when he heard the screams of the women and children.

Tauriel's auburn hair was like a torch in the beam sunlight that was able to break through the dark clouds. She and the other archers were on the walls, but Thranduil knew they would not stay there much longer. It was too open, and the goblins and wargs would be upon them before long.

The screeching forced Thranduil to wrench his eyes away from the walls of Dale and settle on a target a little closer. Lord Bard, utterly alone as he had been the only one on a horse, had six bats swarming above him. Not having a bow for himself, Thranduil signaled to the archers he knew were following close behind, bringing his arm back before flinging it forward.

"_Let fly_!"

The twang of bows and the whistling the wooden shafts made as they soared through the air was a relief to hear, as was the sight of the arrows striking the bats with deadly precision. The foul beasts fell to the ground, resembling pin cushions such as a female giant might use. Thranduil caught the grateful look Bard threw over his shoulder, but neither paused to commiserate over the narrow brush the Man had had with death, or for the elf to mention that once again the former bargeman owed his life to Thranduil. There would be time for such reckoning later.

{_Kili_}

The young dwarf prince had lain on his cot in anxious misery. Since the elf king had left, Kili had strained his ears to hear and identify every sound. He knew when the army left, Dale became so much quieter, even the children were somber.

The horrible waiting was going to drive Kili out of his mind. He made no effort for communication with his guards, the two elves on his side of the partition were not exactly looking open to conversation. And Kili would have been hard pressed to find something to talk about that had nothing to do with the question "are they back yet?" So in silence he lay there, and they stood there, their eyes never meeting his and vice versa.

Kili ended up dozing, only a little and not very well, but when he managed to shake off sleep entirely and opened his eyes fully the first thing the brown orbs landed on was his bow and quiver. Prince Legolas had returned them to him the night before, so that the young dwarf would know that he was no longer a prisoner. It had worked, even more efficiently than King Thranduil's words, for with his weapons close at hand Kili at least felt like he had a chance to defend himself even if the four elves guarding him were taken out somehow.

Unlikely to happen, of course, but a comfort to know that he was not entirely vulnerable despite his bedridden state.

How much time had passed Kili was uncertain, but he felt there should have been some word by now on what was happening. He was just mustering the courage to ask one of his guards when a elf horn sounded, causing the two elves with him to stiffen noticeably. One of them opened the partition, speaking in the elvish flowery tongue and no doubt inquiring on what was happening. A couple of minutes passed before someone came back and the elves spoke some more back and forth in their tongue.

The two guards inside quickly moved toward him and Kili pushed himself up as he warily watched them. "What is it? What has happened?"

"Goblins," one of the elves said, looking over Kili's prone form with a frown. "They will be in the city in a few minutes, we will guard the front but keep your bow in hand just in case. The healers are moving those still too wounded to fight back here so they will be out of the way should the wargs break through."

Kili found his bow put into his hands, an arrow already notched and the quiver on his lap. The elves were gone, their swords in hand and the partition drawn back so the young dwarf could see the preparation the healers were making. The elf guards took post just outside the tents of healing, as the healers moved those too injured to stand or hold a weapon back towards Kili.

For the part, Kili took what pillows and blankets he could get his hands on and stuffed them behind him, building a support for his back so he had something by which to steady himself. Bow once more in hand, the string between his fingers, Kili waited along with the elves and Men. He controlled his breathing, fighting his heart's desire to take off pounding, as it would do him little good to panic now.

The young dwarf did not need to hearing of the elves to know when the wargs and goblins had reached the wall. Kili heard the snarls and hackling laughter loud and clear, and he could picture the elves on the wall drawing back their bows and releasing their arrows as the air was filled with a resounding _twang_ and whistling. When the wall gave way and the enemy entered Dale Kili knew, for the goblins roared in triumph and the women and children screamed in fear.

Trying to see through the narrow slits of the tent and the opened side where the armed elves stood, Kili felt a calmness settle over him. He had never before felt so calm, not even when he hunted for the table meat, or at any point along the Company's journey when danger had struck. Calm was not a concept Kili was familiar with in battle, his blood would burn with the warrior spirit of his people and he had among the first of his uncle's companions to rush into the fray time and again. But now, he was calm, settled, his arms did not shake nor did his fingers nervously twitch around the arrow shaft.

When the wargs and goblins reached the market square Kili saw them, the snapping jaws and loud goblin shrieks he was all too familiar with. None of four elves at the entrance had a bow, so all they could do was take a fighting stance and wait for the enemy to come to them. Four blades flashed together, the elf warriors well familiar with one another so as to fight in unison. Kili almost envied their graceful movements, even outnumbered as they were the elves did not panic, and remained stoic despite the frightened cries of the wounded behind them.

Brave as they were, the four elf guards could not hold forever, and they and Kili knew it. Sure enough, a warg broke through and chaos entered the tent of healing. Kili brought up his bow and let fly an arrow, getting a lucky shot as the warg's mouth was open and took the shaft in the throat. Kili was quick to notch another arrow for the goblin that had been riding the warg was thrown off when its mount fell.

Snarling in rage, the goblin got up, holding its wicked black sword and charged where Kili and the other wounded were. The dwarf let loose a second arrow but the goblin expertly hacked it aside, and while Kili notched a third arrow the goblin was almost upon him. A Man from a nearby bed grabbed an oil lamp and threw it at the goblin, lighting the creature on fire who screamed in agony.

Normally Kili would have shot the burning goblin, to put it out of its misery, but he could not afford to waste an arrow. A good thing he held the third arrow ready however, for another warg broke through, knocking one of the elf guards down hard and roaring in his face. Before the warg could bite off the elf's head, Kili drew his bow string back and shot the creature in the neck, he notched a fourth arrow and fired it just past the warg's front leg, hoping to hit the heart.

The elf rolled out of the way before the warg fell down dead and met the eyes of his rescuer. Kili never thought he would get a nod of respect from an elf, but now having received one he felt infinitely better, especially having proved to himself that invalid Kili might be but he still had plenty of fight left in him.

Despite, this wonderful feeling, Kili worried over how much longer the healing tents could be defended. The market square was filled with goblins and wargs, and the only thing that seemed to be going in the favor of the elves and Men was that the enemy was going after every place where anyone might be making a stand instead of concentrating on one particular spot. That and some elves had scaled the newly thatched roofs to rain down arrows upon the goblins and wargs running around the square.

Kili had no idea how the rest of Dale was fairing, but he hoped fervently that the women and children had made it to fortified position where the enemy would not be able tor each them.

{_Bard_}

Bard did not bother going to the gate, it was closed and there would be no one on the other side to open it anyway. Instead, the lord of Dale rode for the section of wall the wargs had broken through, and he drew his sword as he entered the city. His horse trampled over goblin bodies, but on the first street Bard could see no fallen elves or women and children.

Hearing King Thranduil and the reinforcements approaching behind him, Bard quickly moved forward, intent on finding his children as well as defending the city. He hoped his children were with Tauriel, but he doubted she would have been able to keep all three with her. Even on their best days, Bard had trouble keeping track of them and making sure they stayed where he wanted them too.

"Lord Bard," Thranduil called and the Man reluctantly turned towards him. "The market square is where most of your people would have been, take half of those mounted here and go there using this road, I will circle to the right and come down the main street."

"Very good, King Thranduil." Bard urged his horse onward, half of the mounted elves following him; those soldiers on foot would follow the sounds of fighting.

Bard came to the market square and gritted his teeth at seeing the damage and carnage the goblins and wargs had wrought. Elves on the rooftops were doing their best to take out the enemy but the archers were few and the wargs were tearing through the places where the women and children had taken shelter. Bard rode through, the elves behind him, swing his sword right and left as he galloped past. Reaching the end of the market square, Bard and the elves turned around to ride through again.

The second pass a warg slammed into the side of Bard's horse and the man was thrown, landing roughly on the ground but he managed to keep a good grip on his sword. Bard was on his feet as quick as he could and a good thing too, for two goblins descended on him as soon as he was up and he parried their swords before managing to decapitate one.

Bard fought his way to one of the building where a few women were using the hunting bows of their husbands to fight from the upstairs windows. On the first floor a couple of women held swords at the ready as a few more pushed against the barricade that held the door from being broken down. Bard went to one of the windows, inquiring over his shoulder as he fought if his children were within.

"Here father!" Bard almost breathed a sig in relief at the sound of Sigrid's voice. "Bain is up above, bringing more arrows to the elves on the roof."

"And Tilda?" Bard sliced through a warg's mouth, black blood spraying out from the wound as the creature choked and fell. Disgusted though he was, Bard had no time to spare a glance at his ruined clothing.

"She's not here."

Bard froze, almost getting impaled by a goblin's spear, "What?"

"She went off shortly after you rode out. Tauriel brought Bain and I here, she directed the archers to take to the roofs and then she went to go find Tilda."

Bard was relieved, or he would have been had he not caught sight of an auburn-haired elf fighting on the other side of the square. "Stay inside!" With renewed vigor, Bard ran across the square, pausing only o take out a goblin or warg that got in his way, otherwise he ignored everything else as he made his way to Tauriel's side.

"Tauriel!" Bard shouted, fighting his way to her side, "Where is Tilda?"

The she-elf's face whitened, "She is not here? I searched your house, where she said she was going, but she was not there. I hoped she had made it to the healers' tents or to Sigrid."

Bard would have cursed, but it was not Tauriel's fault and he could not blame her. With the elf captain following close behind, Bard fought his way to the tents of healing, which were being defended by three bloodied elves. The Man could not quash the sinking dread that filled his stomach, the doubt that clouded the edges of his mind and brought forth horrible images of Tilda's lifeless body.

"No!" With this shout of denial, Bard broke through, the goblins seeing his wrath and falling back from it. The Man and she-elf made it to the healers' tents, once a place of serenity, the three elves guarding the entrance made way for them to come inside.

Bard looked wildly around, his knuckles white as he gripped his sword so hard the bones in his hand protested. "Tilda? Is she here? Is my daughter here? Tilda?"

**AN: Whew! Please leave a review for the storyteller, any ideas will be taken into consideration. Also, PegasusWingsVw, don't worry, I will use your idea :)**


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: Happy Thanksgiving, I know I'm early but there's no way I'll be updating later this week, too many family activities!**

**So, who is everyone's favorite character so far in this fic? You can pick more than one if you need too.**

**FD: I'm not a monster, I swear, though you might continue to believe so by the end of this chapter.**

**Elf: 1**

**Halfling: 1**

**Warning: Near the end of this chapter you may need Kleenex, unless you have a heart of stone.**

{_Thranduil_}

The elf king and his warriors had dismounted, the streets too narrow and the ground too broken and upheaved over the passing of time to make riding through any quicker than running. Thranduil's original plan to use the main street to reach the market square was thwarted upon finding that the goblins had set the carts in that road on fire.

Taking a side street took longer, but Thranduil and the elf warriors following him, ran on swift feet around the burning carts until they could reach the main street again. Here, the elf king found a few women and children being chased, those who had not been fast enough to make it inside a building back at the market square. The goblins and wargs had already killed a few; the beasts were tearing the bodies apart since there were no archers on the roofs here to stop them.

Until now that is.

The king of Mirkwood leapt into the fray, his warriors following him without question. The goblins screeched in outrage at seeing the light of the Eldar fall upon them, and the wargs howled when arrows pierced their coarse furred hides. This skirmish would delay Thranduil from reaching the market square even more but he would just have to trust in his people, in Bard, in Tauriel, to hold their own until he did arrive.

Just as Thranduil dispatched two goblins, slicing their heads off with one clean stroke that left no stain on his blade, a high-pitched scream reached his ears. Now there was lots of screaming going around the elf king, children clinging to the legs or backs of the women and even a few elf warriors were screaming or crying as the goblins and wargs snapped at them. But this scream, it caught at Thranduil's memory, the voice, he had heard it before, and he looked up, his keen elven eyes seeing past the mayhem around him to a little girl, ducking the swing of a goblin's mace.

The girl's light brown hair was in disarray, having come loose from its braid in her haste to flee the rampaging horde of goblins and wargs. Thranduil knew this child, out of all the children of Dale he knew her, had met her, and as the girl's face turned the elf king recognized her. Tilda, the youngest child of Lord Bard, the one who had clung to Tauriel when his daughter had led them safe from the burning ruins of Lake-town.

Moving without thinking, without wasting time weighing the pros and cons, Thranduil rushed forward. He barely spared a second to swing his sword at the enemy around him, preferring to leap over the wargs and knock down the goblins in his path. For a brief moment he lost sight of the girl, just as she tripped and the goblin loomed over her.

Sidestepping the fallen beam that had obscured his sight temporarily, Thranduil saw that Tilda was scrambling backwards on her hands and feet. The goblin was swinging its mace down at her, narrowly missing the child who was, for now, staying ahead of the creature's reach just barely. All of that could change in a moment though, one slip on Tilda's part or the goblin could lunge forward, the speed with which Thranduil mentally saw the child's life end several different ways seemed to enable the elf king to move faster.

Running up to the right side of the goblin, who had raised its mace once again, Thranduil kicked out hard. His foot slammed into the goblin's rib cage, sending the creature to the ground with a squeal of pain. Not giving the goblin time to recover, Thranduil drove his sword through the gray skinned creature's body, right between two pieces of armor.

Drawing his sword out, Thranduil had a moment to collect himself before something crashed against his leg. Looking down, the elf king's battle hardened gaze softened at seeing Tilda clinging to him and her tiny shoulders shakily rising and falling though she made no sound other than her hitching breath. Aware that the fighting was still going on around them, and that he still had to reach the market square, Thranduil switched his sword to his hand and gathered the girl up in his right, holding her close.

Tears fell on his neck, a sensation Thranduil had not experienced for many years, not since Tauriel was a child and still suffered from nightmares of her parents' deaths. Swinging his sword with ease, being as proficient with his left hand as he was with his right, Thranduil fought his way to the building where his warriors were depositing the children they had rescued. Mindful of his charge, Thranduil did not engage the enemy unless he had no other choice, which happened when three goblins noticed the precious cargo he carried.

They came at him in a triangle, and Tilda cried out as the elf king spun to deal with the closest goblin, keeping the girl facing away from the danger.

"_Rally to me warriors of Mirkwood_!" Thranduil yelled, dispatching the first goblin just as the other two neared him. They fell back a little at hearing the elvish speech, convinced at first that he was cursing them but when nothing happened they surged forward once again.

Just then Tilda, her head facing the rear, cried out in alarm and Thranduil heard the approaching growl of a warg. Tucking the girl down under him, Thranduil dropped into a crouch and the warg sailed overhead, plowing into one goblin, whose sword pierced the animal's hide and they both fell down dead. Five elf warriors reached their king just as Thranduil straightened up and quickly turned his body away from the incoming goblin sword that swung madly at him.

The goblin sword missed clashing with Thranduil's own and sliced up along the elf king's arm. Leaving a scratch across the metal gauntlet the king wore until the blade sliced into his unprotected elbow. Hissing in pain, Thranduil watched one of warriors kill the goblin as the elf king's left arm could not bring his sword up.

Ignoring the attempts his warriors made in trying to take the girl from him, Thranduil continued on his way until he reached the building that the children had taken refuge in. Setting Tilda down, Thranduil caught the girl's chin in his right hand, making her look at him.

"Stay here with the other children until I come for you. Under no circumstances are you to leave or to let any of the other children wander off. I am counting on you to keep them safe, young Tilda, do you understand?"

Tilda nodded solemnly, her tears no longer falling but Thranduil wiped at them anyway, giving her a smile, which she hesitantly returned. Straightening up, Thranduil turned to rejoin the fighting, transferring his sword from his left hand to his right. The wound was bleeding freely, staining his armor and sleeve, and he only hoped that the blade had not been poisoned. He would have to rip his cape to bind the wound, if only to slow down the bleeding, but it was a necessary step he did not mind doing, there were plenty more capes back in his palace.

"Wait!" Tilda cried, just as Thranduil was stepping away from her and he turned back. Pressed for time he might have been, but the elf king had yet to ignore the cry of a child and he would not start now. "Here, let me help."

Stunned, Thranduil watched silently as the youngest daughter of Bard showed her mettle, laying aside her fear to give aid even though it had not been asked of her. Her hands no longer trembling, and her breath steady, Tilda took the small scarf from around her neck and tied it tightly, with Thranduil's assistance, around the wound.

"My thanks, Lady Tilda," Thranduil bowed, earning a giggle from the girl before she darted inside and the elf shut the door. Looking down at the light blue material wrapped around his left elbow, Thranduil regretted nothing. Coming to the aid of Dale, fighting alongside Men against the goblins and wargs, it was all worth it.

Thranduil stationed two elf warriors to guard the door, before gathering those remaining to dispatch what remained of the enemy in the street. The fighting over, at least in this area, Thranduil took in the condition of his warriors and forbade those too wounded to follow him. Of those that were dead, only a couple, and Thranduil vowed to mourn them after the city was safe once again.

"_To the market square_!"

The fighting had distracted Thranduil from his worry, of fearing how Tauriel fared. She was younger than the two who had fallen, trained just as they had been, having the same exact weapons. The elf king could only hope that if he had been guided to save young Tilda, than someone had to have been as equally guided to protect his daughter.

{_Kili_}

The young dwarf prince had seen many things in his lifespan that had frightened him. When he had been a child it had been thunderstorms, and nothing his mam had done had helped him. It had been Thorin who had shown him how foolish his fear had been, how safe they all were in the snug cabin. That was when Kili had really started to look up to his uncle, to idolize him and vow to never let him down.

When his mam had gotten sick, Kili had been afraid, that winter that year had been terrible, the longest he could remember and so bitterly cold that no one dared go outside. His uncle Thorin had once again trudged through the mountain high snow to reach a physician and procure the necessary herbs and remedies to help Dis get better. That was when Kili had vowed to lay his life down for Thorin.

Coming on this journey, Kili had looked forward to proving himself to his uncle and the Company that he was a competent dwarrow and no longer a child. Although he saw many things that frightened him, the trolls, the rock giants, being captured by the goblins and spiders, Kili had borne it all as bravely as he could, keeping an eye out for an approving look from his uncle. None of it had been worth it though, for Thorin had abandoned him lest his injury slow them down, reclaiming Erebor had been more important than seeing to the comfort of his sister's son. That was when Kili had lost respect for his uncle, and had it not been for his brother's presence and the other dwarrow Kili would have cried as the memory of his childhood hero died and reality, harsh and unforgiving, grabbed hold on him in an icy, unrelenting grasp.

Still, for all that Kili had seen, he had to admit that a panicked father was one of the most frightening thing he had ever seen. Upon finding that his youngest daughter was not in the healers' tent, Lord Bard had fire off question after question, asking if anyone had seen little Tilda. Kili remembered her, the little girl who had asked if the company of dwarves would bring them luck. Thorin's retinue had brought nothing but the fire of a dragon's wrath and death.

Looking upon Lord Bard's face, seeing the warring of emotions between fear and anger, Kili pitied the elves who stood before them. The Man was all for running back out into the fray, ready to abandon the fighting in order to search the city from top to bottom until he found Tilda. Although he was not a father himself, Kili could understand Bard's desire in finding his daughter. The dwarf was worrying himself about Fili, and if he had joined the fighting at all. Of Thorin he did not wonder, the hurt still too deep, even though he had begged King Thranduil not to hurt his uncle Kili was not ready to forgive Thorin for leaving him behind.

"Lord Bard," it was the she-elf, Tauriel, who spoke. Kili had only heard of her in passing, seeing her from a distance, and were it not for the tender expression she was currently bestowing on Dale's ruling lord, then he might have considered flirting with her. "My archers on the roofs will soon be running low on arrows, and the women will be overrun unless we come to their aid. We must fight here, together, or the city may be lost. We know not what is happening in the field, and so must secure Dale in the event that those outside may need to withdraw here to take a more firm stand."

Kili watched the Man's face, his own heart aching at the despair that had started to creep into the light brown eyes. He could tell that Lord Bard could see the wisdom in Tauriel's words, and was battling himself on the right course of action. King Thranduil had said that Bard was an honorable Man, and Kili had already seen what a good father he was to his children, and the young dwarf did not envy the choice that laid before the lord of Dale now. He could abandon his duty, leave the defense of Dale to Tauriel to oversee and hope in her skill to defeat the enemy, or he could let Tilda's fate remain uncertain while he saw to his people whose situation could turn dire should the goblins and wargs receive reinforcements.

{_Bard_}

The Man looked into the almond eyes of Tauriel, desperate for the slightest sign that would be enough to dismiss him in order to search for Tilda. A part of him said to drop everything and find Tilda, yet the other part of him said that Tauriel was right, the city had to be rid of the enemy and made ready in case a larger force bore down upon them, or if the allied army had to fall back.

He was a father first, it had always been so, and a leader second, unfailingly he put the well-being of himself last in every situation. At this point in time, Bard's honor and pride were the last things on his mind; the safety of his children and then his people was paramount. Yet, he could not leave this fight, for to do so, while his people watched, would be forever cemented in their memories. Even if they said they understood, for their own leader to abandon them when they needed him most would break them in ways the enemy never could.

He could not be indecisive, not now. The fighting was still going on in the market square, perhaps even spreading out beyond that. His people, who had chosen him to lead them, were in need of him; if they did not surge forward and confront the goblins and wargs then they would be overrun. Newly in this position as lord on entire city, Bard could not afford to second-guess himself every step of the way. He would have to trust in the fact that Tilda was a smart child, she would hear the sounds of fighting and hide if she could not make it back to Sigrid.

Bard drew his sword once again, "We must turn the tide of this fight, or otherwise they will push past our defenses here and where the women and children are." Tauriel smiled at him, her face showing him that she knew how difficult this was for him and having her close by eased Bard's mind somewhat. "Those who were guarding the entrance to here continue to do so, everyone else who can walk and carry a weapon follow me, we must drive the enemy out."

"What if we fall?" A Man asked, younger than Bard by several years, one arm in a sling but someone had handed him a sword.

"If we fall," Bard said, his throat dry, "then let us fall with weapons in hand, defending our homes, people and allies."

Determination steeled over those assembled, even the elves, superior fighters though they were to the injured men, rallied to Bard's side. The lord of Dale led them out into the streets, past the defenders of the healers' tents and into the thick of the fighting. Each Man and elf swung their swords at the enemy or thrust out, keeping a tight formation.

Bard was at the head of the diamond formation, Tauriel was to his right and the rest of the elves were dispersed amongst the ranks of Men. In the middle, the elder or younger boys gathered what arrows they could as they ran past, pulling them out of the goblin and warg carcasses. The archers up above were already firing less rapidly, making every shot count and would welcome the reclaimed shafts.

Reaching the other side, Bard and those with weapons help the wargs and goblins back while those carrying the arrows handed them to the women through the windows. Once done, Bard ordered the diamond formation to move to the right, keeping the ranks tight. If someone fell one of those in the middle scooped up his weapon and took his place.

Moving to the right side of the market square, those in the middle continued to collect arrows while the diamond formation fought back the enemy. Wargs reared up, providing excellent targets for those with spears or pikes, and the archers up ahead focused more on brining the beasts down while leaving the goblins to those below. Sometimes the ranks were broken through, but the gap was quickly sealed and though the formation grew smaller bit-by-bit each elf and Man continued to hold his own. No one cowered or dropped their weapons in fear, they all understood that to falter meant death and the evidence of the enemy's brutality was clear around them as the bodies of their kin and friends lay hacked to pieces on the stone covered ground.

The tide was turning in the battle, Bard could feel it and though his arms were growing tired from the unfamiliar wielding of the blade for so long the Man felt renewed strength flow through him. Hope blossomed within him, the thought that they could actually win this fight warmed Bard and he turned, intent on telling Tauriel to change direction once more when his heart leapt violently in his chest. The auburn haired she-elf was busy trading sword blows with two goblins; she did not see the other goblin off to the side, balancing himself on a piece of wreckage, readying a spear. Bard's position allowed him to see, he needed no elf eyes to notice the look of utter hatred twisting the goblin's face into an even uglier countenance. With only moments to act, Bard leapt forward, no training to guide him, only his instinct and desire to protect the daughter of King Thranduil.

His free hand wrapped around the upper arm of Tauriel, jerking her back, as he stepped forward and raised his sword. In that moment the goblin threw the spear and it struck a glancing blow off of Bard's sword, and sliced into his upper arm and imbedded itself in a goblin that had jumped forward into the gap Bard had made. The two goblins Tauriel had been fighting had fallen forward, their balance upset as they had been throwing all their might into their sword strokes.

Bard fell back against Tauriel when the spear cut through the outer part of his arm, and the lithe auburn haired captain quickly switched places with him. She seemed to dance around him, so fluidly did she move, somehow using her sword to quickly kill the two goblins and keep others back without hitting him or the other Man next to her in formation. Someone had already taken Bard's place in line, stealing the sword from his hand without him realizing, and he felt a cloth being bound around his arm, stopping the flow of blood though it looked like a fair significant amount had already escaped.

The lord of Dale gave the order to return to where the women and children were sequestered, so that the arrows could be returned to the archers, but he could hardly keep his eyes off of Tauriel. The fact that he had acted without hesitating, pulling her from certain death and taking her place, frightened him. Had it purely been a mere reaction? A man's response to seeing a woman in danger? But that did not explain how protective he had felt, responding just as he would have had it been one of his children.

His arm throbbed, but Bard ignored the pain as best he could, grabbing a sword from the ground as the formation moved back the way they had come. He did not retake his place in line, finding that from where he now was he could get a better perspective of the fight and watch for any problems. It was from this advantage point that Bard saw the new danger approaching well before the archers on the roofs did, and he yelled out to them in warning.

The bats, having been absent until not, swirled high overhead, appearing to be two black cloud twisters, until they dived down upon the archers. The elves on the roofs released a few arrows before scrambling for cover, putting aside their bows in favor of long daggers that served as better weapon against the attacking bats. There was now, however, no archery support for those below.

The effect was significant, the archers having made the goblins and wargs wary, but now the enemy surged forward without heed. The formation was broken, the elves and Men found themselves pressed against one another, back to back, as the goblins and wargs circled all around. Injury ignored for now, Bard fought alongside his people and allies, the hope that had once risen within him beginning to die like a sputtering flame.

That was when the air was rent with the sound of an elvish horn, breaking across the market square and silencing the throaty laughter of the goblins. Coming down towards the market square, Bard saw that King Thranduil had finally arrived. On foot, and perhaps with slightly less warriors following him, but he was here, and the pressure against Bard's men lessened as the enemy turned to confront the new arrivals.

At the same time, fro the direction Bard had originally come when he entered the market square; a pack of wargs with goblin riders came galloping through. Outnumbered once again, the archers still preoccupied up above and now some of the bats starting to break off to attack those below, Bard's heart sunk, as all seemed futile. That was when he heard a sound, like nothing he heard before.

It came down from above, a great cry that either echoed or was repeated by a great many. Bard was stumped, his mind telling him what had made the sound but not believing that it could be so. What were the eagles doing here?

Sure enough, it was the eagles; the great birds flew over ahead. Their large wings batting away the bats as one would a pesky fly, seemingly annoyed at exerting any effort at all in dealing with the flying rodents. The eagles' arrival sent the goblins and wargs in a dither, acting unsure if they should continue fighting or flee.

"Press forward now!" Bard shouted. "Press forward Men of Dale! Elves of Mirkwood! Press forward now!"

It was not long before Bard found himself near King Thranduil, the elvish king giving the lord of Dale a nod before turning to quickly cut down a goblin. That was when Bard saw it, wrapped around Thranduil's elbow and slightly bloodied, but he would have known that scarf anywhere. He had seen it in a market stall in Lake-town, spending a few precious coins so that he could gift it to Tilda for her seventh birthday.

"Tilda?" Bard asked, grabbing hold of the elvish king, his reserve forgotten and silencing the part of his mind that a regal king such as Thranduil should not b grabbed thus. "You've seen Tilda?"

The elf king had started at the grip on his sword arm, but looking into the eyes of Bard, who was not ashamed that his desperation shown through, the son of Orophor sighed. Signaling elves to take their places, Thranduil drew Bard back, and the Man allowed this, the hope burning fiercely within him, not entertaining any other thought but that his daughter was safe.

"She is safe," the elf king said and Bard's shoulders slumped in relief, closing his eyes momentarily to clear them.

"Where?" Was all he managed to ask but it looked like Thranduil understood.

"She is hiding elsewhere with the children who got separated, protected by the women and a couple of my warriors. She is safe."

"Thank the Valar," a voice whispered and both Bard and the elf king turned to see Tauriel standing near them. She smiled at Bard, her eyes sparkling before looking at Thranduil.

Bard's mouth fell open in amazement as he watched the elvish king drop his sword and embrace his daughter. The fighting might as well have been taking place somewhere else, for neither Thranduil nor Tauriel paid it any mind as they hugged one another. The lord of Dale saw two tears escape from the she-elf's closed eyes and trail down her cheeks, leaving clear signs of their passing as Tauriel's face had gotten slightly dirty throughout the battle.

It was then that Bard realized, that while he had been worrying about Tilda and his people, she had been worried about her father. He would not have known it, for she had made so sign of her disquiet but here was the evidence that it had been there. Bard felt a greater admiration and respect for her, for she had counseled him and consoled him, had been the strength he had needed to use for support, and all that time Tauriel had held her own worries close to her heart.

Father and daughter finally parted, Bard could not detect anything in the elvish king's eyes except the obvious relief. The assurances now made that their family members were safe, Bard and Thranduil returned to the fight, but not before the Man noticed the amused look the elf king threw at his bandaged arm. Looking down himself, Bard noticed that the material of the cloth used to bind his wound was too fine for the poorer people of Lake-town. And the green fabric, he realized, was the neckerchief he had seen around Tauriel's neck.

Stunned, Bard almost forgot to parry the incoming swinging sword from a goblin and quickly did so. He swore he heard an elvish laugh, light and airy, and his cheeks grew red as he stubbornly refused to look over and see if it had been Thranduil who had done so. It would not have made sense if it had been the elf king though, for surely laughter would not his response when he saw how enamored Bard was becoming with his daughter. No, Thranduil's legendary temper would surely rise at finding out such a thing.

{_Thorin_}

The battle was starting to wane, Thorin could see that and his heart was glad. He did worry, seeing a section of the enemy host break off for Dale, for Kili was surely there, but if they won the fight out here the dwarves could rush to the city. His youngest nephew was strong, even with the leg injury; he would survive long enough for Thorin to reach him.

Although his company had numbered twelve, the Ironfoot had rallied when Thorin and the rest had rushed out of the newly broken down barricade. Dain had fought his way to his cousin's side, calling cheerfully over the din of axes and swords clashing that it was about time he had showed up. For a moment Thorin had felt shame, knowing that he very nearly had not come out at all.

The call of the gold was still there, on the edges of his spirit, trying to entice him to come back within the safe walls of Erebor. To spend his days counting his treasure and not worry about the foolish Men or their pointy-eared allies. Thorin had shaken himself, knowing that it was not just Men and elves who fought before his gates but his kin as well and no descendant of Durin would hide when there was a battle to be won.

"Thorin," Dain called, "throw away that elvish blade and get yourself a real weapon!" The red haired dwarf hefted his hammer, smashing in the head of a goblin, "This is hammer and axe work here."

"Not so, cousin," Thorin replied, finding the banter helpful in silencing the luring gold's voice. "This blade has served me well on my journey since I acquired it and it makes the elves unhappy."

They both laughed, having noticed the looks that the First Born had thrown Thorin's way when he had joined the fight, his elvish sword held aloft. Continuing to exchange words, the cousins eventually drifted apart, Thorin starting to make his way to where Fili, Ori and Bofur were fighting and Dain off to break the skulls of a few wargs who had leapt over the shield wall of the Ironfoot and were wrecking havoc in the ranks. On Ravenhill Thorin could see a blonde-haired elf directing the archers, the bats were breaking away from where they had been attacking the main group and were trying their best to cut down the elf archers.

Reaching Fili, Thorin was pleased at how his oldest nephew was holding his own. Like his father, Fili was quite proficient with his weapons of choice and had the stamina of his youth if not the experience working well in his favor. Thorin felt a pang of sorrow as he remembered Fili's father, a finer dwarrow never lived, and his oldest son was just like him, blonde hair and all.

The king of Erebor made a mental note to tell Fili after the battle how alike his father he really was. The young dwarrow had so few memories of his father, and Thorin realized that Kili had none for Vili(**?**) had died shortly after his second son's birth. With a even heavier heart, Thorin remembered how he had left Kili behind, like an unwanted burden. He had been the only father figure Kili had known, and the look on his youngest nephew's when he had ordered him to remain in Lake-town had been so broken, devastated and filled with disbelief.

If Fili and Kili ever forgave him, Thorin was sure he would cry, for he saw his actions as completely unforgivable.

Just then a cry to his left made Thorin stagger, and he glanced to see Fili falling, blood splaying out from a deep diagonal cut across chest. With a yell of sorrow and outrage, Thorin fought off the goblins who tried to surround the fallen prince. He shouted for aid, fighting as a madman to keep his nephew safe. A warg charged, barreling past goblins to reach Thorin and as it opened its maw the dwarf king drove his sword into the beast.

His sword stuck in the creature's throat and Thorin braced one foot against the downed beast's body to pull it out quickly, but for a few seconds he was exposed and that was all the enemy needed. The dwarf king cried out in pain as goblin swords attacked him from behind, his armor protecting his back but his arms and legs were not covered in armor. The wicked blades pierced his shoulder and blades, driving him to his knees, when they pulled out of him Thorin quickly turned, using his knees though his legs bled, to brace himself as he lifted his sword up.

Blocking the swinging swords as they came down upon him, Thorin was bent backwards, over Fili's body. His nephew's gasping breaths sounded loud in his ear, drowning out all other sounds, seeming even to muffle to shrieks of the goblins before him. With a bellow of fury, Thorin ignored his wounds, using his leg to push himself up and throw back the goblins.

He stood over Fili, gleaming sword at the ready, the fur coat and thick clothing soaking up the blood from his arms and legs. The goblins fell back, gnashing and hissing their teeth at him, at one another, until they all surged forward again. He could hear Bofur and Ori, shouting and fighting behind him, but he stood alone before Fili's body. The king under the mountain, Durin's heir, standing tall before his enemies, yelling a battle cry worthy of his people as he met the blades of the goblins with Orcrist.

The goblins hated the blade, that was apparent, but the smell of dwarf royal blood drove them in a frenzy and they pressed forward. Thorin was fast, his fury aiding him to fight despite the blood loss and outnumbered odds. Such a picture he made, cutting down goblins left and right, his deeds deserving of song to be remembered for many years to come. But Thorin thought of none of this, his head was not filled with boasting or hoping that the scribe Ori was taking note of how nobly he protected his nephew's body.

Thorin's only wish was to keep Fili safe, the wound had been deep but the healing of the elves was mighty and if they got it the young dwarrow in time then perhaps he had a chance. For Kili's sake as well as Thorin's own and for Dis, the dwarf king hoped that Fili would live. His family had lost so much since the coming of Smaug, surely Mahal could not ask for more.

No matter how well a person fights, if they are outnumbered they will, inevitably, be overrun and thus the valiant stand of Thorin Oakenshield came to an end. Too busy fighting off three goblins; Thorin did not see the mace swinging at his arm until it was too late to move. It smashed into his right arm, making him roar in pain so mightily that it was heard across the battlefield.

"Rally to me free peoples of Middle-Earth!" Thorin shouted, uselessly trying to raise Orcrist with his left arm but the blade proved to heavy for the already injured arm and the right was clearly broken.

He was knocked to the ground, piercing, burning pain as swords drove into him wherever his armor did not cover. He looked up, to the goblin that stood over him, raising a mace to bring down upon his head, and Thorin knew this was the end. He had never gotten a chance to apologize to Kili.

The goblin sputtered, an arrow having struck it in the throat, and a legion of elves and dwarves rushed past Thorin, pushing the enemy back once again. The dwarf king lay there for a moment, his mind slowly comprehending that he was still alive, and finally, painstakingly, Thorin turned over on his stomach. Limbs shaking, the last son of Thrain crawled to where Fili lay.

The blonde haired oldest son of Dis was inhaling rapidly; fighting for air and life but Thorin knew the end was near. His nephew's chest was covered in blood, dark red spilling out of the wound unchecked. Thorin paused at Fili's side, leaning over him so his nephew could see him.

Fili's lips moved, trying to speak, but no sound emerged from his throat. Thorin lift one hand to gently caress his nephew's head, shushing him kindly and telling him not to worry. The action was familiar to him, the dwarf king had done this before, calming Fili after his father had died, Thorin wondered when his heart had turned so hard and bitter he had ceased to offer comfort to either of his nephews.

"It's alright, Fili," Thorin whispered, lowering himself so he could speak close to Fili's ear, "you're going to see your father. Have no fear, all shall be well. I shall see you soon, and one day Kili will join us. Go now and light my way, or else I might lose my way."

Thorin smiled, and Fili's lips twitched before he took one more shuddering breath and all went still. The dwarf king lay there beside his nephew, unmoving, and unaware of anything except the cooling body of his oldest nephew. Absently he brushed the hair away from Fili's face, closing the unseeing gray eyes.

"You look a lot like your father. I never told you, your mother's grief and even your own at his death…" Thorin shook his head, "I should have told you. There are so many things I should have done, and I can only hope, when I join you before Mahal, that you will forgive me." The dwarf king craned his neck to look up at the mountain, "Is this my punishment? Did I bring this sorrow upon myself when I fell to gold sickness?" He looked down at Fili, "Am I to live, while you and Kili sleep, alone and friendless because of my greed?"

Groaning in pain, Thorin lay his head on Fili's shoulder, the soft fur of his nephew's coat proving an inadequate comfort to his sorrow. Closing his eyes, Thorin allowed himself to rest, just for a moment, only a moment. He could not spare any more time than that, just a moment to rest and gather his strength and then he had to get up.

"I have to apologize to Kili."

**AN: So…review?**


	16. Chapter 16

**FD: Sorry, but I did say I would be keeping closer to the book in some things. **

**Elf: 2**

**Halfling: 1**

{_Thranduil_}

"King Thorin has fallen!" "Thorin Oakenshield is wounded!" "The King Under the Mountain is dead!"

When Thranduil heard the shouts, carried by the tongues of Men, elves and dwarves, he felt his heart go still. To have come so far, for his people to have suffered for so long, to have reclaimed his birthright, only to fall a few days into his reign. The king of Mirkwood had not even known that Thorin had emerged from his mountain fortress, let alone thrown off the gold sickness long enough to fight with his people.

The battle was over now, the fighting having ended shortly after the coming of the eagles. The great birds had driven off the bats, the ugly flying rodents having little taste for taking on the magnificent avian predators. The goblins and wargs had waned in number shortly afterwards, unable to withstand the aerial diving techniques of the lords of the sky.

The fight over, the elves, Men and dwarves victorious, a hard task lay before those still standing. The wounded had to be assisted to the healing tents, the dead arrayed for burial, the corpses of the enemy gathered into burning piles, and lost family members found and reunited with their loved ones. Of the last point, Thranduil gave little thought, his daughter beside him, and word having been brought earlier that Legolas was well. Not being one to forget a promise or an order, Thranduil did not deliberately disregard what he had said to young Tilda, he had just not supposed the young girl would take his words so literally.

Caught up as they all were, relieved to still be living, the king had hundreds of messengers coming to him and could spare little thought for anything else. He was aware of Lord Bard leaving, his two children Sigrid and Bain in tow, and Thranduil handled whatever business he could of the people of Dale, it mostly being where to take the wounded or lay the dead. The elf king as not expecting a summons, his captains more than capable of handling almost anything and Dain Ironfoot would most likely want to crawl a mile backwards before asking Thranduil for advice, so when the young Man came running up the son of Oropher paused in his ministrations.

"King Thranduil," the lad panted, "Lord Bard asks your presence. If you can come immediately he would be most grateful."

Thranduil's lips twitched at the 'most grateful' wording, certain that it was the messenger's interpretation rather than Lord Bard's own words. The descendant of Girion seemed reluctant to use the alliance and generosity of the elves any more than he had to, his desire to be independent and not beholden to anyone was admirable but the Man had to learn that sometimes people helped without any expecting anything in return. Shaking his head, Thranduil stood and followed the messenger out of the market square.

To his surprise, the elf king was led back the main street, that he had used to approach the marker square when the fighting had still been going on. When he saw the small gathering crowd around one of the buildings Thranduil remembered that he had left Tilda there, and told her to stay until he had returned. Now having an inkling as to what was going on, Thranduil kept his face free of any sign of amusement as he came to a stop next to an exasperated Bard.

Lord Bard was exuding all the signs of a father who is at his wits end; the elf king knew the look well. Both Legolas and Tauriel had taken turns making him want to tear his hair out, of course the truly terrible days had been when his two children had worked together to drive him to the cliffs of insanity. No one could deny that Thranduil loved his children, when they were absent he thought of them every minute during the day, and doubly at night, but there were moments, and he was sure every parent could attest to this, where he wished for just a little peace and quiet.

"Tilda," Bard said, the Man looking at the elf king with a note of confusion in his eyes, "King Thranduil is here."

Thranduil walked towards the door, where he saw young Tilda clutching onto the doorframe so hard her little fingers were quite white from the effort. She looked up at him, and he was startled to see how relieved and trusting those light blue eyes were. "Tilda," Thranduil said, "there was no need to wait for me, dear one, when your father came himself to fetch you."

Tilda looked affronted, "You said to stay here until you came for me, and papa told me that one does not disobey the order of a king."

Thranduil's lip quirked upwards, and to the side he saw Lord Bard cough into his hand, looking torn between amusement and embarrassment. "Your father was quite correct, little Tilda, a king's orders are not to be easily dismissed, but," Thranduil knelt down, making a show of laying an arm on her shoulders and drawing her close as if about to divulge a royal secret, "I am not your king." Nodding his head in Bard's direction, Thranduil continued, "Your papa, on the other hand, is not only your father, he is the lord of Dale, and doubly holds yours allegiance and obedience." Making sure he had Tilda's undivided attention, the elf king finished with, "And even if your father was still the humble bargeman, it is his word you obey first, before anyone else's, even a king's, for duty and loyalty to one's family come before duty and loyalty to one's lord or king in all matters that are just."

Taking one moment to lay a comforting hand on the girl's head, Thranduil stood and turned to leave. He had not gotten far before a young woman fell into step beside him, a glance to his right confirmed girl's identity as Sigrid, the eldest child of Bard. She resembled Tilda greatly, or rather, Thranduil could see the women Tilda would grow to become, the only two things that set the to girls apart at this stage was their eye color and temperaments. Sigrid's eyes were almost golden in color, catching a hint of blue depending on the light.

"Forgive me, King Thranduil," the young woman began, her bearing resembling much of her father even if her looks took after her mother, "but may I crave an audience with you?"

"Of course, Lady Sigrid, come to my tent within an hour and I shall hear what you have to say."

Once back in the market square, Thranduil was on his way to where his horse was waiting when word was brought of Thorin Oakenshield's fall. He had very little time to process his own thoughts of the matter, before the cry of denial rang out across the square. Elven hearing was not needed to hear the shout that was so loud it caught the attention of every elf, man, woman and child. Thranduil saw Kili, fighting to stand up from where he had been placed so that there was more room inside the healers' tents for those newly wounded, and the elf king effortlessly mounted his horse.

Everyone moved out of his way as the king of Mirkwood rode the short distance across the square, stopping before the young dwarf prince so quickly that the horse's hooves sent loose cobblestones flying off in different directions. "Help him!" Thranduil ordered, motioning to a few of his nearby warriors to assist Kili. "We will ride to the battlefield, Prince Kili, and ascertain what has happened."

The elf king could tell that his calm and commanding demeanor helped steady the young dwarf and nothing further was said as Kili was assisted to mounting Thranduil's horse.

The ride out of Dale and across the valley was silent, the only sounds being the horses' hooves on the firm ground. The tight grip on Thranduil's arms was almost bruising, the clenched fingers would surely be very stiff once Kili eased upon the grip but the elf king doubted that would worry the young dwarf at all. The elf could not imagine what was going through the prince's mind right now, to find out that the uncle you loved, who had left you behind, was dead, but perhaps Thorin was yet alive. Words passed from ear to ear had a habit of being misconstrued, even among the elves, and it could be that the king under the mountain was only wounded.

A section of the battlefield had been cleared for several tents to be set up and Thranduil saw Gandalf and several dwarves gathered outside one. He steered his horse in that direction and drew to a stop before them, dismounting to assist young Kili himself as none of his warriors were around.

{_Kili_}

When Kili's feet landed on the ground his knees almost buckled but the firm grip the elf king held on him saved the dwarf from hitting the dirt, for which he was grateful. Seeing Balin before him, Kili nearly wept, reaching for the older dwarf as a child reaches for the comforting embrace of a parent after a nightmare. "Oh laddie, I am glad to see you well."

"Balin," Kili whispered, having been released by Thranduil into Balin's arms, "how did he fall?"

"Oh lad," Balin's voice was thick, his eyes bright and moist, "he was fighting bravely, you should have seen him. No fear in him as he led a group of us against our foes, but then the goblins were suddenly pressing in from all sides and we were no longer together. I did not realize what had happened until it was too late. Until I saw your uncle standing over Fili, trying to protect him and shouting for aid."

Kili stiffened, pushing himself away from Balin and stumbling as his feet tried to support him, "Wha—? F-Fili?" the young dwarf stammered, breathing hard as his heart once more sped up in fear and disbelief.

Balin was stunned, "Oh lad, I thought you knew."

Kili shook his head, "No, no they said… They said it was Uncle Thorin, it was my uncle—"

"No Kili," Balin said gently, "it was your brother who fell. He did not have a chance, so outnumbered was he, but he fought valiantly, of that you must know. Your uncle is lying in there," Balin gestured to the tent behind him, "he is gravely wounded, as he stood guard over your brother's body and would not give ground to the enemy until we were able to reach him. He has been asking for you, lad, you should go and see him."

Kili shook his head, "No, no I must see Fili first, I must—"

A hand on his shoulder cut off the young dwarf's words and he looked up to see King Thranduil, "Your uncle will not live through the night, Prince Kili, and the sun will soon set. Go and see him, let there be no ill thoughts between you both when he passes. Your brother's body is being arrayed in state, when all is ready you will be able to go see him but for now I advise you to see King Thorin."

It was the word 'king' that cut through Kili's rising grief, making his blood turn to ice in his veins. Fili, the crown prince was dead, Thorin was dying, that meant that Kili would be king, a position that the younger dwarf never thought he was take.

Numbly, Kili nodded his head and was assisted towards the tent by Balin and Dwalin, but once he reached the flap he insisted upon going inside alone. With his heartbeat echoing in his ears, Kili drew aside the flap and limped inside. Braziers and candles were lit around the inside of the tent, providing sufficient light but Kili wished it was darker. Seeing the body of his uncle, laboring for breath, his once sun tanned complexion becoming as pale as the moon, Kili felt his heart plummet.

Hesitantly, Kili hobbled forward, coming to the foot of the bed and almost jumped out of his skin. He had not noticed the elf healer until she moved, giving a slight bow before stepping out of the tent. Getting a grip on himself, Kili used the bed for support as he drew nearer to his uncle.

Thorin opened his eyes and Kili could see the pain stored within them, being held back by his uncle's strength of will not to make a sound.

"You're here," Thorin whispered, "thank Mahal you're alive!"

"Uncle…" Kili's legs could not keep him up any more, and he sat on the edge of the bed.

"I have wronged you," Thorin said, and Kili wondered if his uncle had heard him speak at all. "Nothing I can say or do can ever erase the shame I committed in leaving you behind, for what? A pile of gold and a wrecked mountain barely fit as a home for our people to return to. For family, that's what I said I was doing all this for, and yet I left you behind, my own blood, nothing can forgive that crime. Yet," Thorin's eyes were beseeching, "I beg you, Kili, forgive me."

"Uncle," Kili reached forward, somehow finding Thorin's hand with his own even though his eyes were misted with tears, "uncle, please stop. I forgive you. I know why you did, what you did. There wasn't time to wait for me to heal, you had to find the hidden door."

"No!" Thorin cried, "That was no excuse, for leaving you behind in a friendless town. Were it not for the compassionate heart of Bard you would have been on the streets, and he took you in after I had thrown his kindness back in his face." Thorin drew in a shaky breath, before looking at Kili, "You will have a hard time of it, Kili, I leave you a broken kingdom, and your inheritance is our people, scattered across Middle-Earth. If Balin will stay take his advice more seriously than I did, he will serve you well as an advisor. You have never had a hard time making friends," Thorin smiled, "do what I was too stubborn to do and keep that elven king and Lord Bard in good terms with you. Kili," Thorin grasped his nephew's hands hard, "do not listen to your cousin Dain. Keep him as a friend, but he will speak against having business with Thranduil. Do not take any of his 'experience' with elves to heart, for you cannot afford to distance your neighbors." Thorin sagged against the bed coverings, "You're so young… Is that elf king near, Kili?"

Kili nodded, "Yes, he was just outside."

"Send him to me, please, and then you should sit with Fili, he should not be left unattended."

Kili swallowed and stood, grabbing hold of the bed to steady himself, "You're injured?" Thorin asked, making a motion as if to rise but Kili waved his hand dismissively.

"It's just my leg, uncle, it's healing well."

Limping to the flap, Kili walked out of the tent with one last look at his uncle before searching for King Thranduil. It was not hard to find the elf king, he was standing where he had been before Kili had gone, gazing across the battlefield, watching elves, Men and dwarves gather the dead and wounded. When he saw Kili the elf king moved towards him, the dwarf could not believe the level of concern he saw in Thranduil's face.

"My uncle would like to speak with you."

Kili watched Thranduil's eyes lift to look at the tent, before coming back down to rest on him again. "Very well, I shall see him. You should find a place to sit and get off that leg."

The elf king walked past him and Kili looked at Balin, clearing his throat before speaking, "Where is Fili?" 

{_Thranduil_}

The elf king entered the tent, and could see the claws of death reaching for the dwarf king. The firelight held back the darkness threatening to close in, but Thranduil knew it was only a matter of time before the last candle, the last breath of Thorin, was exhausted. The elf walked to the dying dwarf's side, and gazed down just as Thorin opened his eyes.

"I've hated your kind for many years," Thorin said, "much of the misery my people and I have suffered I blamed on you. When we were 'guests' in your kingdom, I could have been more courteous, more humble, after all, who was I? The heir to a throne I could not even sit on."

Thorin paused for breath and Thranduil stirred himself to speak, " I, also, could have been more courteous."

The two kings shared a look of amusement between them, but it quickly faded.

"I know," Thorin said, "that I have no right to ask anything of you. I have insulted you, treated you unfairly, and not behaved as a king should have. But, I must ask you, to please watch over my nephew, Kili. He will be alone, with so many duties; I do not want him to become lost. He has had little training in kingly responsibilities and courtesies, he always protested against learning them, insisting that there was no need as Fili…" Thorin closed his eyes briefly, and then looked at Thranduil, "I failed to teach Kili as I should've. I favored Fili, and Kili knew it but he was always so much more at home, hunting in the forest, practicing his archery, wanting to go on adventures with Gandalf. He hated having to spend time indoors, you may have to tie him down for meetings." Thranduil silently thought that such a method would not be necessary, not with the limp that Kili had. "You will look after him, please? He is so young, so inexperienced, please," Thorin reached for Thranduil's hand and the elf king gave it to him, "promise me that you will offer your guidance and support to him. I fear, that there may be those among my people who will not accept him, given that he is barely an adult by our reckonings. My cousin, Dain, may want to rule in his stead, as a regent until he deems Kili mature enough. I know you may not want to interfere, but Kili must learn and do things for himself. Dain will speak over him; his father was the same way. Do not misunderstand, Dain is a powerful ally, and my cousin, but he has no love for your people, and I fear whatever he may try to do, all in the name of helping Kili, will only make things more difficult for my nephew."

Thorin coughed then, a little blood dotting his lips. Thranduil looked away, before pulling out a handkerchief and offering it to the dying dwarf king. They did not speak, as Thorin dabbed at his lips, wiping away the blood and he lay back, resting, recovering his strength.

The elf king looked to the side, noting how the candles and braziers were providing all the light now, there was no assistance from the sun. Evening had fallen.

"I give you my word," Thranduil said, holding Thorin's hand, "that I will do all in my power to make sure that Erebor rises once again as a great kingdom of the dwarf people. And do not worry, for Kili will be a great king, and he shall have my friendship and guidance for however long he wants it."

Thorin sighed in relief, "Thank you."

The tent flap opened and the surly, bald dwarf stepped in, "King Thorin, they have found Bilbo, he is coming now."

Thranduil left shortly afterwards, walking out into the night. He noticed the Halfling pass him, besides a bruised temple young Mr. Baggins seemed to have come through the fight relatively unharmed, but the elf king's eyes were for his son. Legolas had been escorting the Halfling, no doubt the one who had found him, but now he hung back, looking slightly lost.

Concerned, Thranduil walked quickly to his son's side, his eyes scanning for injury, "My son?"

Legolas looked at his father, "I… I cannot go back, ada."

"Come," Thranduil placed his arm around Legolas' shoulder, "let us go to my tent and talk."

**AN: So, review please and any ideas you have please submit them. Thranduil and Legolas need to talk, then there's the talk between Sigrid and Thranduil. Also, do you guys want me to have a meeting between the elf, Man and dwarf leaders?**


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: I'M BACK!**

**FD: lol**

**Elf: 2**

**Halfling: 1**

"_Once again, a reminder, talking in italics is for when characters talk in elvish and I'm too lazy to translate_."

{_Thranduil_}

They approached the gates of Dale together, father and son, both walking upright, shoulders back and spines straight. The only thing that gave away that either of them had recently been in a battle was their disheveled appearance, Thranduil had hardly a hair out of place but his armor was splattered by black and red blood. His son, on the other hand, looked as if he had wrestled with a Mûmakil and lost. Legolas' warrior braids were disheveled, one really could not call braids anymore, and Thranduil wondered how an archer could become to be in such a state.

The elf king was reminded, sadly, of how young his son was. While it was not Legolas' first major battle, the loss of life had been high, even for the elves, and Thranduil could tell that the weight of those lives was lying on his son's shoulders.

When they reached the elf king's tent, Thranduil dismissed his aides and guards, making sure no one was nearby to overhear the upcoming conversation. The orphaned children had since been moved to another building where there would be better lodging. He poured to cups of wine, having Legolas drink half a glass before allowing his son to speak.

"_I cannot go back, father_," his son whispered. "_I cannot go back to the peaceful halls of our home, and pretend that the evil is not growing in Middle-Earth_." There was nothing Thranduil wanted more, than to wipe the sorrow that marred his son's eyes, "_I know I am a prince of Mirkwood and cannot simply drop my duties whenever I feel like it, but father, if I feel that if I go back to the forest and do no more than guard our borders I will fade_."

Thranduil turned away, hiding the shaking of his hands from Legolas, though his firstborn was too smothered in his melancholy thoughts to notice. "_I understand_." The elf king drew in a deep breath, before facing one of the last two lights of his life, "_You feel that you need to do more, after witnessing how devastating the armies of Sauron can be when left to gather in numbers that far exceed ours_. _And I know it can be difficult to return home without the ones who left it with us," Thranduil placed a hand on his son's shoulder, "the last time I returned home after having gone to war I did so without your mother."_

Legolas' head snapped up, his blue eyes searching his father's, "_You hardly speak of her, or of that time_."

"_That was none of your doing, and I have only myself to fault for selfishly keeping her memory from you_." Thranduil smiled, slight though it was, "_Your mother would be so proud of you. I am proud of you as well. I could not have asked for a braver, kinder, or nobler son than you, Legolas._" His son inhaled sharply and bowed his head, Thranduil did not blame Legolas as neither of them were used to being so expressive before. The elf king cupped a hand under Legolas' chin, and tilted his son's head up, "_I love you, Legolas, you are my heart, my light. You and Tauriel are the two brightest jewels in all of Middle-Earth and no matter where you go I know I will not lose you."_

"Ada," Legolas whispered, and Thranduil drew him into his arms. Father and son embraced as they had never before, of course there had been hugs in the past but they had been brief and lacking the level of comfort that was needed to be conveyed now. "_What do I do_?"

Thranduil sighed, "_There are many roads before you, my son_,_ you have only to choose one_. _If you go to Imladris you will find the sons of Lord Elrond, who continue to hunt the forest for orcs and other fell beasts in revenge for their mother's fading. There is Lothlorien, I know the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood would like to see you, as they have never had the pleasure, and of course the Marchwarden would benefit greatly from having so skilled a bowman among his ranks._" The elf king drew back, smiling at his son in humor before his face became serious again, "_And then there are the Dunedain, the descendants of the kings of Numenor and Gondor, who live northwest of here._"

"_The rangers_?"

"_Aye, the rangers_," Thranduil smiled, seeing the path Legolas would take, and it was done without Mithrandir interfering. "_They are viewed as a wild lot by their own kind, yet they carry the hope of Middle-Earth with them and one day, my son, a king will sit on Gondor's throne again._"

Legolas pulled back from him, "_Mortals? You would send me to live among mortals? I am weighted down by the deaths of my people and you want me to go to those who are forever in death's shadow_?"

"_What better way to learn about and accept death, then from those who can never escape it_?"

Legolas thought of this and then nodded, "_I will go to the Dunedain._"  
"_Go by way of Imladris, and Lord Elrond will write you a letter of introduction, for the rangers_." Legolas nodded, and Thranduil hesitated before asking, "_When will you leave?_"

"_I will leave after the funerals, as a prince I should be here for them_."

"_Yes_," Thranduil nodded in approval, "_they will be difficult to bear, for all of us_." Smiling, the elf king looked at his son with mirthful eyes, "_And perhaps you can return for your sister's wedding, which I believe will take place in the spring, or thereabouts_."

Legolas jerked, "_Wedding? Tauriel is getting married? To who_?"

"_Lord_ _Bard of course_," Thranduil answered, and laughed when his son's eyes widened in disbelief, "_though he has yet to ask me_, _as he and Tauriel have not yet realized that their hearts call to each other."_

"_Lord Bard…and Tauriel,_" Legolas tried in vain to wrap his mind around the concept. "_You would let her marry a mortal?_"

Thranduil looked tenderly at his son, "_You and I both know that Tauriel was set to walk a different path than us._" The elf king's eyes were focused on fond memories, "_Surely you noticed, as the years passed, how restless she has become in Mirkwood? At first I thought she longed to explore and visit other places, as you did, but I have seen that that is not the case. Your sister would never be content to watch the years roll by, to remain unchanged and then sail into the West when she hears the call of the sea. Perhaps, had she not witnessed the death of her parents, it would not be so, but Tauriel has found a family among Lord Bard's brood, and they with her._"

Legolas swallowed, his jaw clenching, "_So her fate is that of Beren and Luthien?"_

Thranduil smiled sadly, "_But hers and Bard's will not be as tragic I feel._" Finishing his wine, the elf king turned to the partitioned off section where he knew a fresh set of clothes was waiting for him. "_Now, I must freshen up, as Lord Bard's oldest daughter has requested an audience._"

Legolas blinked, "_She did? By the Valar, what could she want_?"

Thranduil grinned, "_I haven't the slightest notion what our meeting will be about, but if she is anything like her younger siblings it shall be entertaining._" Casting a critical eye at his son, Thranduil continued, "_You should freshen your appearance as well, my son, you would not catch the eye of many young ladies of Dale in your current state._"

Thranduil grinned as he heard Legolas sputter behind him, and he entered his room. He wanted nothing more than to sink into a tub of hot water and bathe away the stink of orc blood and grime, but tubs were not the easiest to transport and he was not going to ask his people to heat water for his own personal use when it was needed to bathe the wounded. It had been a long while since Thranduil had had to 'rough it' but, as he inspected his reflection in the mirror, he did an excellent job of cleaning up with the limited resources available to him.

Walking back into the main area of the tent, Thranduil found Legolas gone, and a platter of food and drink set on a table. The elf king skipped the food for now, preferring to pour himself a cup of water as he waited for Lady Sigrid to arrive. Legolas was leaving, not right away, thank the Valar, but his son was leaving and it could be many months before he saw him again.

Brushing such sad thoughts from his mind, knowing he had all winter to let his mind brood, and it would not do to let young Sigrid find him in such a state. The hour he had allotted was nearly up when one of his guards outside the tent announced the arrival of Lord Bard's eldest daughter. She too had cleaned up a little, of course the people of Dale had no extra changes of clothes beyond what the elves had been able to supply them but the girl had cleaned her face and fixed her hair. Looking at her, Thranduil wondered if this was how Bard's wife had looked, for Sigrid shared little family resemblance with her father.

"Lady Sigrid, how may I help you?"

The young woman bowed slightly, looking uncomfortable and Thranduil softened his features in hopes to put her more at ease. It did not seem to work. "King Thranduil, my people, and my family, are indebted to you for all that you have done. You saved us from starvation, you helped us fortify and prepare these ruins for winter, you championed our cause in receiving what the dwarves promised us and you helped rescued my sister and defend this city. We are all in your debt, one that I think we can never repay." Thranduil's amusement had vanished halfway into the girl's speech, a growing suspicion of where this topic was going formed in his chest and he fought to keep the darkening cloud of anger from his face. "What I want to know, King Thranduil, is why? Why did you ride so hastily from Mirkwood and arrive to aid us? Why have you invested so much in our continued survival?" Not a tear fell, but Thranduil could see them gathered in the girl's eyes and the sight helped calm him. "What… What do you hope to gain?"

"What do you think I want, Lady Sigrid?"

The young woman trembled, "You took no notice of us while Lake-town stood, yet you appear as soon as the dragon is dead and lend us aid without any negotiating a price or talk of payment. You give us everything we need, clothes, food, materials to strengthen shelters. What do you want in return?"  
Thranduil shook his head, "That was not the question you wanted to ask, Lady Sigrid."

The young woman steadied herself, "Did you use us to make your attack on the dwarves' mountain more credible?"

Rage boiled within him, and Thranduil stepped forward, so quickly that Sigrid flinched but she did not back away. A firm grip on her chin ensured that she could not look away, for the elf king did not want her to miss a word. "I would have attacked the mountain regardless of whether or not your father agreed to come. I am an elf king, I have fought in many battles and never would I have needed such a paltry excuse to justify my actions!" His anger thus delivered, Thranduil gentled his grip, "You are very bold for one who is so indebted to me." Seeing her eyes widen in fear, Thranduil released her and stepped away, "You are your father are much alike, suspicious and stubborn to a fault. These traits can serve you well but if they are not tempered they will destroy you, do you know why, Lady Sigrid?" The young woman shook her head, "Because if you are too suspicious then you cannot see acts of kindness, or recognize compassion when it is staring you in the face. Too stubborn, and you will miss words of wisdom and logic that could very well save your life." He glanced back at her over his shoulder, "You are right to be suspicious of someone who offers aid without asking anything in return, but you must ask yourself, what would I gain by holding such a debt over your people? You have nothing I want, and I am not interested in making the people of Dale slave away for many generations to come in hopes of removing the debt that looms over them. Now, I will tell you what I gain by helping your family and your people. By helping establish yourselves once more in Dale I will gain an ally who will be able to fend for themselves and watch over the lake and river, allowing my forces to not be so stretched." He smiled when he saw that she understood, "That is right, Lady Sigrid, I have been protecting Lake-Town since the fall of Dale all those years ago. Even though I never came to the floating town and you never saw my people, does not mean I was not watching over you. What trade and commerce you had was by my orchestration, making sure that only the people of Lake-town survived but also the line of Girion, who was my friend. So you see, Lady Sigrid, if I were at all interested in collecting this 'debt' you spoke of, it would encompass not only my actions over the past couple of days, but for the past many years as well." He walked back to her, noting the tears that had started to fall, "Fortunately for you and the people of Dale, I have not been keeping track of every life saved that traveled on the precarious roads, or the money spent securing trade. If it will put your mind at rest, Lady Sigrid, then know that Dale can repay me by keeping the trade routes open, and negotiating any and all dealings I may have with the dwarves in the future. I realize that Dale will not be up and running soon, the winter is very nearly upon us, still plans can be made so that all is ready for the spring." Thranduil raised his fingers to wipe away the tears, "Why the tears, Lady Sigrid? Should you not be pleased that your people have a future where they will not be slaves, and will land beneath their feet from which they will grow and cultivate their independence?"

Sigrid made a valiant effort to calm herself before she started full out crying, she tried to back away from him, her hands coming up to cover her face, but Thranduil would have none of it. He gathered her close to him, marveling at the fact that he had embraced more people these past few days than he had even his own children in the past ten years.

"There now, hush, there is no need to cry so."

"I'm sorry," Sigrid sobbed, "How… How can you want anything to do with us? After what I said—"

One of the guards from outside poked his head through the tent flap; his eyes worried but Thranduil waved him away.

"Your words angered me, yes, but you spoke as a woman frightened over the fate of her family and people. Much has happened to you. Your home burned, and you are no longer the daughter of a mere bargeman but of a lord of Dale and your duties have tripled a hundredfold. You have born it all with an iron will, as your father and even your ancestor Girion did, yet it has all become a bit much has it not? And so cry, young one, cry within the safety of this tent where your people cannot see. You must be strong for them, Sigrid, but removed from their sight, in the care of your friends and family, you can let go." He raised her chin to his gaze, "And never forget, Lady Sigrid, that I am a friend to you and your family, not only because of the friendship I shared with your ancestors but for your own sakes as well. By your merits you have earned my friendship, and I shall never take it away. Of that I promise."

He held her until her cries had lessened and he offered a handkerchief so she could wipe her eyes and face. Her composure once more restored, Thranduil escorted Sigrid outside the tent and then froze at seeing a peculiar and most amusing scene before them.

Legolas was sitting on a barrel, his hands tightened into fists and his lips pinched between his teeth. Thranduil had seen that stance before, when his son was a youngling and had been ordered not to move it was how Legolas conveyed that he very much wanted to squirm. Standing on a barrel behind him was Tilda, her small hands holding several strands of the prince's hair, and doing her utmost to braid them. All the elves within distance were watching the scene with great amusement and surprise, none of them laughed though their faces bore testimony that they dearly wished to do so.

Tilda looked up just then and, seeing King Thranduil and her sister, she waved, absently pulling on Legolas' hair as she did so. The poor prince winced and many of the elves grimaced in sympathy but the elf king's eyes alit in humor and he walked over to them, Sigrid trailing behind him.

"Hello King Thranduil," Tilda said, her smile infectious and Thranduil returned it, "I am braiding Prince Legolas' hair."  
"Are you, dear one?" Thranduil inquired. "That is very nice of you, I know it can be such a struggle for Legolas to braid his hair correctly."

Oh how his son glared at him, Tilda however was ignorant of the look and nodded solemnly. "I can't braid my hair by myself either, because I can't see what I'm doing but Sigrid always helps me so I asked Prince Legolas if I could help him." She of course was not doing the traditional warrior braid, but a more standard one that Thranduil had seen on many of the women of Dale. "Do you want any ribbons in your hair, Prince Legolas?"

"No!" Legolas shouted, startling Tilda who nearly lost her balance but Thranduil steadied her before sending a disapproving look at his son. Abashed, Legolas cleared his throat, "I mean, Lady Tilda, that ribbons are not something warriors put in their hair."

"Oh, of course," Tilda smiled good-naturedly, and continued on with her work. "How is your arm, King Thranduil?"

"Much better, dear one," the elf king smiled, "thanks to your prompt aid. I shall return your scarf to you once it has been washed."

"Oh keep it," Tilda insisted, tying off a braid to look at Thranduil, "so you won't forget about me. Besides, I… I could never wear it again."

Thranduil tucked a strand of her hair behind an ear, "Then, little one, I shall keep it and give it a place of honor in my throne room so that all who see it will know of the daughter of Lord Bard who gave aid to a haughty elf king." He tapped her nose with a finger and she giggled, her eyes as bright as glittering gems and Thranduil knew he would never forget this child, even after she passed little Tilda would remain a shining memory.

Tilda was halfway through a second braid when a deep horn sounded outside Dale, winding a bitter solemn note. Soon other horns joined it, conveying sorrow in their wake and the merriment in Dale came to a halt.

"What is that?" Tilda asked, pulling her hands loose to hold onto Legolas' shoulders and the prince raised a hand to comfort her.

"That, little Tilda," Thranduil said, "is the death of a king." He looked down at her, "Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, is dead."

**AN: I was going to stop here, but realized that 3000+ words was not enough to justify being so long away, and we need more Bard so keep reading!**

{_Bard_}

Bard heard the dwarf horns, and knew what they meant. He had, of course, been informed of the death of Prince Fili, and that Thorin was gravely wounded. His heart ached for Kili, knowing the young dwarf had to be quite devastated after not only losing two close family members but also inheriting a kingdom he most likely had thought never to rule. Pressing for their share of the mountain's wealth seemed heartless, and yet Bard knew he, Kili and Thranduil would have to meet for winter was not going to hold back the snows to allow everyone proper time to grieve.

Sighing, Bard looked at the auburn-haired woman next to him, carefully bandaging his arm. When he had finally come to the healers' tents to have his arm treated he had found the place overflowing and the healers conscripting every warrior who had any knowledge of healing to aid in treating the wounded. Tauriel had been one of those pressed into service, and had smiled at him when a place had been found for Bard to sit. He had watched where she had placed the blood soaked neckerchief, determined to grab it so it would not be thrown out and then Bard had blushed, thinking himself silly for wanting to hold onto a bit of cloth.

Bard was not unaware of the large gap between he and Tauriel, a Man and an elf, a mortal and an immortal, a humble bargeman and a king's daughter. It was the material of songs, of that there was no doubt, but such songs either had a happy ending or a sad one. King Thranduil had, after all, been more than generous in aiding the people of Dale, to repay him by falling in love with his daughter, Bard was sure that was a declaration for war.

However, looking at her, Bard knew he could not lose her. To have her go back to the forests of Mirkwood and never see her again, for why would she join any retinue coming to Dale? No, he had to speak with her, and hope that she looked at favorably upon him as she did his children.

"Captain Tauriel," he said, bringing her attention away from his wound, "I don't think I thanked you properly for the care and protection you showed my children. They are not easily commanded by anyone, and have never shown such affection or obedience to any woman since their mother's passing. What you did for them, it means more to me than any words I could use."

Tauriel smiled, "No thanks is necessary, Lord Bard, I was glad to help. You have three wonderful children, and they were no trouble to look after. When Tilda went missing I want you to know that if I could have I would have dropped everything to go find her, the danger she was in, I shuddered to think what would have happened had King Thranduil not found her in time."

Bard shook his head; "I cannot hold that against you, Tauriel, not when I know my children so well. Tilda is forever disappearing off somewhere, she became quite good at it when it was necessary for them to hide from Alfrid and the Master's men when he hounded me. I impressed upon them how important it was that the Master never get ahold of them, for he would have used them against me in order to secure my obedience and silence, and while I wanted them safe I could also not keep silent against his malicious greed."

"You are a good Man, Bard," Tauriel finished tying the bandage, "I can tell that your children respect you very much, and that they will grow up to be as strong and good as you."

"That is something I worry about, Tauriel," Bard confessed. "Sigrid is nearly a woman grown, with the threat of the Master and Alfrid removed I know she will soon look at young men in a way she never has before, to have a talk with her about the subject is not something I am looking forward to. Bain I worry about, I do not want him growing up too hard, too serious, he needs someone to temper him with gentleness but when will I have the time now to do it? And Tilda, she will need more than one set of eyes watching her, I do not want her new position to go to her head. You've seen her, you know how sweet she is and unselfish, but to have sudden wealth and an excellent home once it is finished, I fear suddenly being a lady will turn her spoiled, and yet how can I be on guard against it? Were my wife," here Bard paused, and Tauriel looked at him apprehensively through her almond shaped eyes, "What I am saying, Tauriel, is that I cannot continue as I was. I cannot raise them by myself, and yet there is no woman in Dale who I can see willing to take on three children and not have her head turned by fancy by becoming Lady of Dale, except one." Bard's eyes met Tauriel's, "I know I am asking a great deal, and that now is probably not the right time, but if you feel any love for my children, could you feel anything for me? Could you give up your immortality to live a life with me and mine?" Bard laid a hand on Tauriel's, stopping her from speaking. Perhaps it was a bout of foolishness that had prompted him to speak now, but the words spoken could not be taken back and there was no course of action left to Bard but to continue. "I do not ask that you give an answer now, I know a decision should not be decided quickly, but I know that King Thranduil will leave soon for Mirkwood and the winter snows will close the roads between our two realms, and so I had to speak." Bard smiled, "I know I'm not a great speaker, and there are many ways this could have been said better but—"

Tauriel raised her hand, placing her fingers against his lips, "You said it very well, Bard of Dale, and I will answer you, but not now," she smiled, "and you should talk to my father."

_I'm a dead man_, Bard thought.

**AN: Okay, if more than ten people don't like the Bard and Tauriel scene I'll change it, or otherwise I leave it as it is. It might seem kind of hasty for Bard to speak out now but I really needed to move this relationship along.**

**Also, if I don't update by next Saturday then bug me, please.**


	18. Chapter 18

**FD: Thanks for the review! **

**AN: I think we have just a couple more chapters before this story is over.**

{_Kili_}

Dawn came and Dale was quiet. Two days ago the flare of battle horns and the assembling warriors gearing for battle had broken the sun's awakening; but today was silent. It was a bleak morn, not only because of the amassing snow clouds already gathering on the horizon, but because today was the appointed time for the burials of the honored dead, dwarf, elf and Man.

Kili opened his eyes and lay on his bed, silently watching the ever-brightening sky through the slight slit in the partition of the tent. He had to get up, the stately clothes his cousin Lord Dain had loaned him lay waiting on a chair. They were fine garments, finer than anything Kili had ever worn. Being a second-son, even though he was of the line of Durin, had not brought many fine things into young Kili's life. They had been poor, his uncle preferring to use what payments he earned from his craft to care for all their people, rather than improve the living of just his family. Kili was almost scared to put the soft clothes on, the reality of his situation would become all too apparent then and Kili wanted to hold it off, just a little longer.

Thorin was dead, he had died during the night after the battle, having just enough strength to say goodbye to Bilbo before closing his eyes forever. Fili was gone, the brother who had stayed by his side since Kili had taken his first step. Getting up meant he would be burying them, saying farewell forever, for once the doors closed to their tombs he would have no time to mourn before being needed to see to the political meetings and needs of his people.

Hearing people stirring outside, Kili could no longer delay the inevitable. He rose, limping slowly to the stand where a pitcher and bowl waited, a gift from King Thranduil and Kili was grateful for the water he splashed over his face, needing the biting cold liquid to fully wake him when he would rather be asleep. The fresh dark garments he donned quickly, not wanting to dwell on the thought that Dain had brought such appropriate mourning clothes before knowing that any of his kin were dead.

Walking out of his tent, Kili found Lord Dain assembling an honor guard, most likely to escort them to where Thorin and Fili's bodies had been laid in wait for the burial service. The young dwarf prince felt his heart drop at the distance, between his tent and where his uncle and brother's bodies waited, to the mountain where they would be buried. He could not walk that entire distance, his leg would give out before he neared Erebor and all his people would see how weak he was.

Just as Lord Dain and the honor guard began to walk over to Kili, they stopped and stared in shock. Kili turned, and felt his own mouth drop in surprise, for coming towards him were two rams, pulling a stately cart behind them. Their harness was richly made, well befitting the craftsmanship of dwarves but Kili suspected the elves were behind the willingness of the mountain sheep to be used as carriage ponies.

Kili did not look to see his cousin Dain's expression; he was too busy inspecting the inside of the cart. The rams had stopped before him, their manner calm and, the cart was bedecked with a black cloth. Looking inside found a comfortable pillowed bench, with plenty of room to keep his leg from cramping.

"Prince Kili," Balin and Dwalin walked up to the young dwarf, each bowing in respect. "Forgive us for not having your carriage finished last night, the finer details needed to be worked out a little longer."

Kili may not have paid much attention during those times when his uncle and Balin had taught politics and kingly courtesies, but even he was not a fool. Of course the soon-to-be-king of Erebor could not be seen accepting gifts from an elvish snob(so viewed by the dwarves), and thus Balin had worked with the elves in securing a means of transport for Kili without the young prince losing face among his people. The dwarves coming to Erebor after being exiled for so long, would never know how much they owed to the king of Mirkwood for the care and safety he had bestowed on the last direct descendant of Durin.

And what a sobering thought that was.

Once seated in the cart, with Lord Dain and the honor guard assembling around him, the rams set off for the black clothed tents where the dead lay. King Thranduil and Lord Bard were already assembled with their own honor guards and family members close by them. The dwarf dead would be buried first, taken down to the deep caverns of the mountain where new tombs had been prepared. Thorin and Fili, of course, would be buried in the family crypt, the elder to be placed in the tomb that had been prepared for them before the fall of the mountain, and Fili would be buried where Thrain should have been placed, had Erebor been theirs at the time of his death.

This was real, Kili knew, watching the chosen members from Thorin's Company and some of Dain's warriors bring out the bodies of Thorin and Fili. The rest of the dwarf dead were carried by their kinsmen or fellow warriors, and the funeral procession began to make its way to Erebor. A contingent of warriors went before, some blowing their horns, their mournful notes carrying through the valley. Following were those carrying Thorin and Fili, behind which Kili led the procession of royal dignitaries come to see King Thorin and his first heir laid to rest.

Kili had seen Bilbo walking with Gandalf; the gray wizard was keeping behind Lord Bard's group though such a placement puzzled the heir of Erebor. Surely a wizard of Gandalf's renown should have warranted a higher ranking, either walking with the elves or Men. Yet he hung back, and Kili vowed to enquire about the separation later. He also had to talk to Bilbo, and make sure his share of the treasure was given to him. He had heard that Bilbo had claimed the Arkenstone as his share, but that was currently in the care of Lord Bard and would be buried with Thorin in his tomb. So, it was only fair that Bilbo be reimbursed for his selfless act in trying to stop the fighting between the elves and dwarves from ever happening.

Aside from the horns, there was no other sound accompanying the funeral procession to Erebor. Once they reached the mountain the horn blowers went silent, and the drums took up. Kili left the cart, and took his position directly behind those carrying Fili, and they began the long descent to the hall of the dead.

The ever-continuing beat of the drums followed the procession down, each thump of a dwarf's fist on the dried leather bound drums echoed within Kili. His heart became heavier the further they descended, and he was grateful for the supportive hold Dwalin kept on his arm that kept the young prince from falling when he stumbled. He wished he could think of something else, distract himself from seeing Fili's covered body before him, but his mind was blank and his eyes refused to stray too far from the still form of his brother.

Finally they reached the cold Hall of Tombs, and Kili almost sighed in relief that it was almost over. The two tombs were open, so cold and dark inside that the light from the torches could not penetrate the depths of the tombs themselves. Kili shuddered, barely resisting the urge to draw his coat tighter about him.

The Heir to Erebor wanted to cry when the bodies of Thorin and Fili were brought before their final resting places, but he could not indulge in that small comfort just yet for he had one last duty to the dead to fulfill.

Drawing in a breath, Kili began to hum, his lighter voice going as deep as it could to sound like thunder. Mahal had to be warned that dwarf warriors were being laid to rest, that their spirits were coming to his hall and he should prepare to receive them. The dwarves around Kili took up the humming, until it traveled out of the Hall of Tombs and up the stairs, sounding more and more like thunder from a distance bringing a threat of an approaching storm.

When Thorin and Fili had been placed in their tombs, Kili stepped forward to place their weapons in with them. He had already taken mementos from his uncle and brother the night before by which to remember and honor them, now he took the weapons Dori and Oin brought to him and placed them on and around the still bodies. Stepping back, Kili watched with dry eyes as Kind Thranduil stepped forward and gently lay the elf sword Kili's uncle had found in the trolls' cave upon the chest of the dead king. Then Lord Bard stepped forward, and the dwarves watched in awe as the glowing Arkenstone was brought forward from the Man's pocket and laid beside the elf sword upon Thorin Oakenshield.

Then the bodies of Thorin and Fili were lowered into the tombs until they disappeared from view and the stone slabs pushed into place. It was over, it was done, Kili would be crowned king and those living would forget the dead as seeing to their own survival would be more important.

The young dwarf turned and saw to the burial of the other dwarves, his leg throbbing and wanting a cool poultice to apply to the burning skin.

The coldness of the hall did not affect Kili; he was shaking and beginning to sweat from the heat boiling inside him. He barely heard Balin say the burials were over, that they could return to the surface, he merely followed the dwarves in front of him heading for the exit, not caring if he was in the proper place in the line or not. He just wanted this day to end.

Coming back into the sunlight was a breath of fresh air to Kili, but it cleared his head only a little while and when he felt himself falling into a stupor again.

"Buck up, boy!" A voice hissed in his ear, and Kili saw that Lord Dain had replaced Dwalin at his elbow and looked angry. Then again, the few times Kili had seen his redheaded cousin before, the lord of the Iron Hills usually had a scowling look on his face. Perhaps it was permanently set that way.

The firm grip on Kili's arm startled him, the digging fingers pressing tightly through the fabric, the pain registering in the prince's numbed mind. "Snap out of it, boy! You cannot allow that pompous elf to see you like this! He'll tear you apart during the meetings tomorrow! Thorin should have made you tougher than this."

Those words cut through Kili, stabbing his heart, and he stared at Lord Dain in shock. That his cousin could speak so, after burying Thorin only a few minutes ago, was hard for Kili to comprehend. Perhaps it was merely grief speaking, for Kili remembered Fili's anger at their father's death, though the little boy had been too young to understand what was happening he remembered being frightened by his older brother's outburst.

Kili stared wide-eyed at Dain, letting the older dwarf push him forward to where the burials of the fallen elves and Men would be. The earth should have been too hard to dig up to make the graves, but somehow it had been done and Dain whispered about elvish magic in Kili's ear with such hatred that the prince shivered and recoiled away. He watched, through unseeing eyes, as the elves sang and buried their dead right beside those Men who had fallen in the battle, Kili's mind too occupied to appreciate the sorrowful beauty of the ritual taking place before him. His uncle's words of warning concerning Dain roared in his ears, making his glance warily at his cousin from the corners of his eyes.

He could not trust Dain, neither could he offend him for making the Ironfoot dwarves enemies would not be good. The young heir would have to be on his toes, wary of everything Dain said, the very thought of which gave Kili a headache. He knew he had a fever; the heat building inside him and his imperviousness to the cold around him was testament to that. He needed to lie down soon, he needed to bow out of the rest of the day and rest, but how could he do that without appearing weak?

Kili noticed Balin nearby and he made a motion with his hand, so that the aged advisor would come closer as the dwarf party began to disperse after the last of the dead were buried.

"Oh lad, you don't look well," Balin whispered, and Kili took the opportunity to place his hand on the old dwarf's shoulder and lean slightly without it being too obvious.

"Balin, I do not feel well," Kili admitted. "I fear I have a fever, not dangerous but I must rest. Please, I know I should be present for the mourning feast but—"  
"Never fear, lad," Balin smiled, patting the hand not being used to support the prince. "Simply delegate Dain to see to the feast and welfare of his men, the Company will attend you in your tent for a commiseration meal. You will not have to see anyone until tomorrow when the meetings between the elves, Men and us must take place. Until then you can rest, and we will see to it that you are not disturbed."

Kili smiled in gratitude, "Thank you, Balin."

"Anytime, my prince."

It went smoothly, Kili handling over his responsibilities to Dain, who did not look pleased but could hardly argue in front of everyone.

Once more in the ram pulled cart, the remaining members of Thorin's Company followed Kili back to his tent and Ori helped the young prince prepare for bed. Kili was exhausted, he barely managed to eat and drink anything before lying down and letting his eyes drift shut. A sound from outside had him fighting to open his eyelids, enough to see the elf at the opened flap hand something to Balin, who took it with a small bow and a word of thanks.

The old advisor mixed whatever was in the pouch in a glass of water, and brought it to Kili. "Here, lad, drink this before you sleep, it will help with your fever."

The young dwarf drank, fearing a bitter taste but was pleasantly surprised by the fruity tang to the water. He drank it all without encouragement, and instantly felt his headache ease considerably. Closing his eyes once more, Kili fell into a dreamless sleep, the burning fever losing its blaze as the medicine fought to heal the injured dwarf.


	19. Chapter 19

**FD: Thanks for the review!**

**AN: Two chapters in one week, yep this story is coming to an end.**

{_Bard_}

Bard was awake before dawn; he had not been able to sleep much as Tilda had slept fitfully. Her constant turning and slight whimpers now and then had woken him every time; he had done his best to comfort her until she drifted off to sleep again. His youngest had never had a nightmare until the coming of Smaug and the burning of Lake-town, since then all of his children had struggled with sleeping through the night but Tilda most of all.

When Tauriel came and sang to them, Bard's children usually slept through the night with only a little stirring here and there. Tilda, however, had a rough night now and then, and last night had been a restless one. Perhaps it had been the funerals, seeing so many dead arrayed for burial and hearing the death songs of the dwarves and elves. His youngest had never seen so many dead people before, having been too young to remember all those who had died from during the summer sickness that had claimed his wife, as well as many others.

Sighing, Bard got up and dressed, seeing no reason to remain in bed when it was painfully obvious he would not sleep. Tilda had been still for the past two hours, so she would sleep for what was left of the night. The former bargeman gave the tousled hair a final caress before walking out of the crammed sleeping area and into the kitchen. Once the house was fully repaired everyone would have their own room with plenty to spare, this being the home of their ancestor Girion it was more than grand. It would suit his family for many generations; of that there was no doubt.

Fixing himself a light meal, Bard ate without any real desire to. He did it only because he knew Sigrid would notice if he had not, and with the meetings they would have to have today it would be best to eat now rather than later.

Bard walked out into the chilly morning, pulling his elven cloak closer about him instinctively though there was no need. The cold barely touched him, and if it had he would have barely notice it, so full was his mind with other matters. The meetings weighed heavily upon them, both looking forward to getting them over with but dreading having to sit through them.

Prince Kili had not looked well the day before, not that Bard had expected to see the grieving dwarf smiling, but the remaining nephew of Thorin had truly looked ill. When Thranduil had quietly commented on the fact after they had left the mountain Bard knew the dwarf's condition was truly worrying, if it had sparked the elf king's concern. It was no surprise to either Thranduil or Bard when they learned Kili had withdrawn to his tent after the burial of the fallen elves and Men.

Bard wondered if Kili would have the strength to even make it to the meetings. Perhaps they could agree to limit the number of people there, maybe just Kili, Bard and Thranduil, and meet in the dwarf's tent so that the young prince's leg was not aggravated anymore.

Bard did not need to be a seer to know, that having Dain at the meeting would not let the proceedings go smoothly. The cousin of Thorin Oakenshield had of course shown that he could set aside his differences long enough to face a common enemy, but with the last goblin slain the red-headed dwarf had gone back to mistrusting the elves and, by association, the Men of Dale. If Kili allowed Dain to speak in his stead, what would that mean for Thranduil and Bard? Would the bowman turned lord have to physically keep the elf and dwarf from killing each other?

Thranduil's restraint Bard was sure he could trust given normal circumstances, but should Dain be taunting then it was anyone's guess how the meetings would go. The Man could already feel a headache coming on and he wondered if this was what Girion had had to deal with, acting as mediator between the elves and dwarves, and hoping each meeting would not come to bloodshed. However, this situation would be different for Bard was not going to be present merely to make sure the immortal and stone-born races could come to a peaceful agreement, he would be asking Kili to honor Thorin's promise, as well as negotiating the materials and the dwarves' skill in rebuilding Dale in the spring.

Sighing, Bard walked through the dimly lit streets, heading for the nearest parapet so he could watch the dawn rise. This had been a usual ritual of his, before his wife's death, to leave his house before the sun so he could see the new day start. He had stopped after her passing, wanting to stay with his children as long as possible before having to go to work.

Once climbing up the wall, Bard stood and watched the first tendrils of the rising sun start to streak their way across the sky. Breathing in the cold air, the new Lord of Dale could smell the approaching snows, they were not too far off, another few days, perhaps a week, and then the valley would be covered. All the roads would be closed, the way too dangerous for any Man or dwarf to travel. The King of Mirkwood, however, had mentioned to Bard that messengers would come to check on Dale throughout the winter, and for that the Man was grateful. He had never been in charge of an entire town before, small though the population was, and the very idea of being responsible for so many lives during the hardest time of the year was frightening.

The sun topped the faraway hill, dawn had come, and Bard sighed once more before turning away. He froze in place, watching the activity by the nearest gate, feeling guilty at seeing the tender moment he was spying on. Trying to keep his movements silent, Bard made his way to the ladder and descended, not wanting to witness what was obviously a farewell between Prince Legolas and his family.

{_Thranduil_}

The Elven king never wanted to day to come, but he had not the magic to delay time and so, with a heavy heart, he woke at the appointed hour. He could already hear Legolas stirring in the main room of the tent; anxious and eager to be on his way before the snows made traveling through the mountain pass difficult. After Thranduil was dressed he heard Tauriel rise, and the family of three broke their fast together for the last time for what would, most likely, be many moons.

They left the tent together, the prince's horse saddled and waiting when they came out. Legolas strapped his gear in place on the blanket, and, taking the reins walked with his family to the gate. They were silent, each taking comfort in the company of one another for the few moments they had left with one another.

When they reached the gate the elves guarding it turned away, giving their liege lord the privacy needed to say farewell to his only son. Tauriel stood close to Thranduil, looking at her sworn brother with acceptance, keeping her eyes clear and a smile on her face for Legolas' sake. The prince embraced her first, telling her he would keep in touch and he would see her in the spring.

Then father and son looked at one another, and Tauriel took the moment to look away and brush at her eyes.

Thranduil disregarded whoever might be watching and pulled his son in close, fearing he would not be able to let go. Slowly he tipped Legolas' head down, kissing his son's forehead, bestowing his blessing on his son's journey. Just for a second more he held on, needing to remind himself that Legolas was very much alive and that this parting was not forever.

The elf king was reluctant to release his son, but he willed himself to pull his hands back, grateful for Tauriel's presence at his elbow.

"_Your home will always be here_," Thranduil said. "_When you have found what you seek, when your heart begins to yearn for our Greenwood, when your feet lead you back to familiar paths, you will always be welcome_."

"_Thank you, father_," Legolas whispered. "_Thank you for everything_, _and I promise I will return_." The prince looked at Tauriel before winking at his father, "_The spring will be an excellent time to return_."

Father and son shared a smile before Legolas turned and mounted his horse. Lifting a hand in a final farewell, the prince urged his horse forward and his honor guard followed him out the gate. They rode into the morning light, taking the path that would lead them to the nearest crossing over the river, from there they would head through Mirkwood to the mountains.

Thranduil stood still, watching his son ride out of the valley, before he turned to look at Tauriel. His daughter had tears in her eyes, no longer keeping them hidden since Legolas could no longer see them. Without a word he embraced her, pressing his lips to her forehead, not in farewell but in fatherly comfort.

"_He will return, Tauriel, in the spring, as he said._"

Tauriel shook her head, "_I… I find myself lost, father_. _Since coming into your care, Legolas and I have done everything together; even though he was older he stayed by my side_. _I joined the guard because of him, and you, I wanted to make you proud but I also wanted to follow him_." She bowed her head, resting against his shoulder, "_Is this the 'change' Men talk of_? _When life, as you have previously known it, changes and will never go back to how it was_? _For even when he returns he will not be the same, and neither will I._"

"_Come_." Thranduil placed an arm around Tauriel's shoulders, and led his daughter back to their tent. They had time until the meetings, the town was still mostly sleeping and there was no sign of the dwarves even stirring. "_Change to us elves does not happen as often as it does to Men, but it can affect us the same. Being a father, I would prefer that my children never leave home, to keep them close means that I know they are well and safe. Yet, to see them leave and start their own lives brings a sense of pride to me that lessens of the sorrow of their leaving_."

"Ada," Tauriel looked up at him, puzzled by his words and smiling in reassurance, "_I am not going anywhere_."

Thranduil smiled, "_Not yet_."

She paused, looking at him, her almond shaped eyes trying to take his measure, "_Has… Has Lord Bard spoken to you_?"

Thranduil's eyes were full of knowledge, making Tauriel blush, "_He has asked to speak with me before we leave after the meetings_."

"_And… And you do not disapprove_?" Tauriel was tentative, not daring to hope but unable to stop the anticipation within her.

"_If I disapproved, my little stargazer, Lord Bard would be well aware of it._"

Tauriel smiled, blushing, "_But I will not be leaving right away. I could not leave you to bear the winter alone_."

"_And that is why, fire of my eyes, Legolas will return in the spring. So that we may all witness the joyous event of your marriage to Lord Bard_." Thranduil grinned, "_Of course, Lord Bard has still to make his intentions known to me, let us hope he does not lose courage_."

Thranduil laughed at Tauriel's nervous expression, kissing her forehead again to let her know he spoke only in jest. If he had thought that Lord Bard was to be so easily intimidated then there was no way the elf king would give his permission for the Man to wed his daughter. Tauriel deserved a husband who would brave all the evils of Middle-Earth to protect her, as well as stand up to an equally protective father to prove he was worthy of his daughter's hand.

**AN: Maybe two or three chapters left now.**


	20. Chapter 20

**FD: Thanks for the review, my faithful guest reviewer.**

{_Bard_}

The Lord of Dale had chosen a former banquet hall as the meeting place; a canvas had been procured from somewhere to seal off the top of the hall since there was no longer a ceiling. There was nothing remaining of the old banquet table and chairs, true craftsman pieces according to Thranduil, so a rude table and some benches had been made to serve temporarily. The windows had been sealed off as well, the glass having most likely broken during Smaug's attack, so Bard had torches and candles lit around the room to make it as bright as possible.

Casks of ale, brought by the dwarves, and a barrel of wine from Mirkwood were held at the readiness. Bard was not one for drinking so early in the day, but he had a feeling they might all need something stronger than water before evening fell. Prince Kili, especially, might benefit from a little wine should moving about prove too much.

Unfortunately, Bard's suggestion to Lord Dain that only the three of them, Thranduil, Bard and Kili, meet in the dwarf prince's tent was rejected. Not surprising, really, but the former bargeman had hoped the Ironfoot dwarf would be reasonable. At the thought, Bard heard a very Thranduil-like snort in his mind, he had been spending too much time in the King of Mirkwood's company.

Sighing, Bard took his place at the head of the table; Bain sat on a stool behind him. The Lord of Dale had instructed his son to duck should the meeting come to blows, though Bard was expecting the more likely think to happen was for things to be thrown around. Looking back, Bard caught his son's smile; Bain gave him such a look of confidence that his father dreaded not being able to live up to it.

The arrival of King Thranduil put an end to any thought of retreat, and Bard stood to receive the king. An entourage of elves, council members most likely, accompanied the blonde elf though Bard identified at least two who were captains. Thranduil raised an eyebrow at the Lord of Dale, and Bard wondered for a shaky moment what he was doing wrong.

"Your council is not with you today, Lord Bard?"

Oh, that was what puzzled the elf king. Bard contemplated his answer, before squaring his shoulders and looking at the father of the she-elf who had opened the door to his warded heart.

"We met earlier and agreed on all that Dale will need and be willing to give or work for." Deliberating for a moment, and hoping he was not going to hang himself with his next words, Bard pressed on, "I thought it best to have less people present, seeing as we have all gone through so much and need to recover that a show of numbers could be seen more threatening instead of comforting."  
The council members around Thranduil all looked at Bard with blank faces, not showing any sign of being offended by the Lord of Dale's words. King Thranduil, however, had a gleam of approval in his eyes, that made Bard's shoulders lose some of their tension. The elf king turned his head and spoke a few words in elvish, most of the elves who had followed Thranduil in turned and left, save for one captain and a nobleman who came to sit on either side of their king.

"A excellent idea, Lord Bard," Thranduil looked at Bain, a warm expression in his eyes that made Bard remember the tender parting he had inadvertently witnessed. "And you, young Bain, shall indeed learn much today in the ways of politics."

Bard winced, hiding the action as he retook his seat. Politics was not his strong suit, give the Man a bow, a barge, a child, and Bard knew what to do, crafting words was a whole new experience. Bard's only knowledge of politicians were Thranduil, the former Master of Lake-town and Alfrid. The former would make reading a rock easy, the latter two were not worth imitating, so Bard had no choice but to speak as plainly and honestly as he had always done.

It was much longer until Lord Dain Ironfoot entered the hall. Bard's heart sunk at seeing the redheaded dwarf, especially when Prince Kili was nowhere to be seen among the many dwarves who followed Dain in. The Man noticed a tightening in the elf king's eyes, and whatever hope Bard had built at this meeting going smoothly just vanished like a puff of smoke.

"Where is Prince Kili?" Bard asked, worried that the young dwarf's condition had worsened during the night.

Dain sat at the other end of the table, deliberately looking at the empty seat on Bard's left and ignoring the suggestive arrangement to sit there. The Man sighed mentally, not heartened at all by the start this meeting was off to. How was it they could fight side-by-side but still act so suspicious of each other's motives?

"Prince Kili is still recovering from his wounds," Lord Dain said, finally answering Bard's question, a hard tone in his voice, "which, I am told, he acquired while in your 'care'. I assure you I am fully aware of all transactions, words, promises, and am in possession of list of Erebor's assists, as seen by those who accompanied Thorin and my own memory." He grinned, the action raising the hairs on the back of Bard's neck, "Shall we get down to business?"

Bard glanced at Thranduil, probably not a wise movement to make but he could not help it. He needed to see how the elf king was reacting to all those, and Bard had to admit that he had never seen Thranduil so still before. There was nothing in the great elf's bearing to imply what he was thinking, he was a statue, might as well have been carved from stone for all the good it did Bard.

"Now then," Dain took out a scroll and opened it on the table. "I was informed of Thorin's promise to recompense Lake-town for its assistance in his quest, and while no amount was agreed upon I believe that one sixteenth of the fortune of Erebor will be an adequate sum in repaying the Master for his generous support." The grin on the dwarf's face had turned into a smirk, "Where is the Man anyway?"

Bard froze, not liking at all where this was going. At first he had been stunned by the amount Dain had mentioned, knowing from legend and Thranduil's own accounting how might Erebor's treasure was, but as Dain continued speaking a pit of fear started to open within Bard. That it had all been for naught, the burning of Lake-town, the alliance with the elves, the battle, the deaths of his people and nightmares of his children. Were they to receive nothing that would ease their hardships a little bit? The elven king could not support them forever, and the people of Dale would not to accept his charity for too long a time, because Bard knew that the longer you depended on a person the harder it was standing on your own.

"The Master of Lake-town fell during its evacuation," Bard said, his voice stern and hopefully conveying that he was not going to budge an inch on this. "The People of Lake-town elected me as their leader, not only because I slew the dragon but because I am the descendant of the last lord of Dale."

Dain nodded, "All very well, Lord Bard, but Thorin's promise was to the Master and people of Lake-town. So what am I to do? The Master is dead, and Lake-town lays in ruins on the lake, most likely never to be rebuilt since its people have moved to Dale and claimed it as their own. As much as I would like to honor my cousin's promise there seems to be no way to do so, since those he pledged his word to are no more."

Bain made to stand but Bard held his hand out to stop him, the Man looked at Dain Ironfoot with such fiery contempt that the obstinate dwarf's expression faltered for a moment.

"So much for the tales of dwarves that sing their honor and their word are as precious as the gems they carve," Bard said, earning a look from Thranduil but the Man carried on. "Is it not enough that my people have shed their blood twice since Thorin Oakenshield returned to these lands? Once when he brought the wrath of the dragon down on our sleeping town, and the second time when vengeful goblins raised a horde of evil to attack all of us! We are the people of Dale and Lake-town, what does it matter where we currently reside? Was not your cousin always of Erebor in his heart? There are those among my people who will always be fishermen, and never at ease on land as they are on the waters of the lake. Lake-town will be rebuilt, but to do that we need funds and craftsmen, for Dale must rise with it. I was prepared to make any number of agreements in return for labor; even if it meant we never saw the promised gold at least it would go towards restoring what was destroyed. However, Lord Dain," Bard said the title derisively, "you have shown your heart and I now know you had no inclination to honor Thorin Oakenshield's promise anymore than he did."  
Dain rose to his feet, completely outraged. "You dare besmirch my cousin's good name?" He pointed an accusing finger at Thranduil, "If you had not gotten so cozy with that pointy-eared tree lover I would have heard you out, Lord Bard, but every dwarf know a Man who kisses the ground the elves walk on isn't worth his salt!"

Thranduil made to rise but the opening of the hall door made everyone pause, and they stared at Prince Kili in wonder. The young dwarf was pale, Bard noted, but looking better than he had been yesterday, and, despite the limp, he walked with his head high, eyes bright with awareness. The Prince of Erebor looked at Dain, and Man and elf noted the redheaded dwarf's shock.

"Forgive me, Lord Bard and King Thranduil," Kili bowed his head slightly in the direction of each, "but I overslept and was misinformed of the time this meeting was to take place. I am sure, Cousin Dain, it was a mistake in communication between us."

"Of course, Prince Kili," Dain said, moving from the chair he had been sitting in and gesturing towards it. "Would you care to sit here?"

"Thank you, no," Kili smiled, walking towards the chair on Bard's left, "I prefer to be closer to those I am speaking with as it is so easy to mishear what one says the farther one is away." The prince then noticed all those with Dain, and Bard bit back a smile, "Surely, cousin, not so many are needed for a meeting such as this? There is hardly anything is debate, and you and I have no need for counselors if Lord Bard and King Thranduil can do without their own."

Bard could tell Dain was not happy, but the dwarf clearly would not speak against the Heir of Erebor. The Ironfoot lord waved his hand, and all of the other dwarves left, some looking relieved to do so. Dain walked to where Kili was sitting, and heavily sat down beside him, glowering at the smirking Thranduil across from him.

"Now then," Kili said, smiling jovially, but being closer allowed Bard to see the tightly drawn muscles and pained eyes, "what did I miss?"

"Lord Dain," Thranduil said, speaking finally, "had just informed Lord Bard that since the Master and Lake-town were no more there was no need to honor King Thorin's promise for shared wealth with them."

Bard wanted to crow at Dain's angered countenance, but Kili's heartfelt shock was painful to witness. The young dwarf turned to his older cousin, who he should have been looking to for advice and respect, and pierced the redheaded dwarf with a storm-promising gaze only a descendent of Thror could pull off.

"Is this true?"

"I thought it best—" Dain began, but Kili cut him off by smashing his fist into the table. The wood cracked, it being so crudely made, and Bain jumped in his seat from the sound the splintering plank made.

"I will do what I think is best," Kili said, "for me and for Erebor!"

{_Thranduil_}

The King of Mirkwood found himself impressed, and that was not an easy thing to do. All yesterday he had worried about Prince Kili's condition, the fashioned cart had been a gift of recompense for Thranduil took the blame for Kili being wounded since it had happened while the young dwarf had been is his care. A hostage though he had been at the time, Kili should have been safe from any who wished him harm and the elf king took the responsibility for the young prince's crippling injury.

He had underestimated the youngest nephew of Thorin, as he was sure most people did. Being a second son as Kili was, the young dwarf would not have been at the center of attention as his brother Fili, and therefore his strength in politics was unknown. The dwarf people knew Kili as a fine warrior, well trained in his weapons and now battle tested, but he most likely had never been in a position where he had to lead outside of training or a hunting party.

Thranduil smiled at Dain's befuddled face, everyone at the table re-measuring Kili's mettle as he expertly shifted the power balance in his favor. The elf king realized that even Thorin must have been unaware of his nephew's skill with words, if the dying dwarf king had asked Thranduil to guide Kili as he had. Settling in his chair, the King of Mirkwood looked forward to the rest of the meeting.

Of course he had been bothered by Kili's absence in the beginning, wondering if the herbs he had sent over last night had not helped the dwarf's fever. To see Dain prepared to cut off financial aid to Dale for Bard's close connection to the elves was not a surprise, sad though it was. He had begun mentally calculating what he could do to support the people of Dale through the winter. Now, perhaps, such measures would not have to be taken.

The elf king watched as Kili regained control of his temper, the flashing brown eyes that pinned Dain to his chair held such fire that Thranduil was sure they could have melted gold.

"My apologies, Lord Bard," Kili turned to the Man, dipping his head, "my cousin Dain obviously misunderstood my uncle's and even my wishes on this matter. Before we go into ironing out all the details I have something that should have been returned to King Thranduil a long time ago."

Said elf went very still, his clear blue eyes tracking the young dwarf's hand as it disappeared into a coat pocket. The box that was withdrawn was familiar, he would have known it anywhere as it was the same one he had carried the pieces of his wife's necklace to Erebor so many years ago. The blue crafted wooden box had escaped any damage from Smaug's flames or the passing of time, and Thranduil dared not breathe as Prince Kili held the precious container out to him.

The elf king was moving before he was even aware of what he was doing. His hands did not tremble, a fact he was later thankful for, but at the moment it was not something he was concerned about. Thranduil reached for the jewelry box and drew it towards him.

There was a weight to it, far more than the box by itself would have mattered, and Thranduil knew the necklace was inside. He could not dare look at it, his fingers stilled on the clasp and he looked up at Kili's hopeful face. "Thank you, Prince Kili, this is a gesture of friendship I will never forget. You are perhaps unaware of how important this is to me, and my people, but I thank you nonetheless. Allow your heart to always guide you, let it be free of anger, and lust of gold, and you will be a great king, worthy of the line of Durin."

Kili dipped his head, and Thranduil tucked the box within his robes to be opened later. Dain Ironfoot glowered in his chair, and looked about to speak but the prince of Erebor was not done. He turned to Bard and smiled, "Lord Bard, I know there was no fixed amount that my uncle agreed to, but I believe one eighth of the treasure will be adequate recompense to rebuild Dale and Lake-town."

Thranduil watched Bard shift uneasily, most likely stunned by the amount just as the elf king was.

"That is very generous, Prince Kili, but I believe the amount Lord Dain suggested earlier, one sixteenth, will be sufficient in rebuilding our two cities." Bard looked at Thranduil, but the elf king merely raised an eyebrow, wondering where the Man was going with this. "Once we have set Dale up as it was in olden days there will be a great deal of commerce and produce, more than enough for everyone and I am sure the treasure of Erebor will be spent wisely in this endeavor. I know it is vast, but it many be many months or even years until you are able to clear out the mountain enough to begin mining again. The rebuilding of Lake-town will allow an easier route in transporting our wares, but brining in the lumber for such a venture will require a great deal of gold. I am willing to forgo the promised share of the treasure in return for dwarf craftsmen to help in Dale and Lake-town in the spring."

"No," Kili said, his face serious once again. "I and my people will work for free on Lake-town and Dale, it was our greed and awakening the dragon's wrath that brought destruction down on your people, it is only fair that we freely give of our time, skill and strength in repairing your cities."

Both of Thranduil's eyebrows went up, and Dain made a choking sound. Dwarves working for free? The elf king was sure he had never heard of such a thing.

"Very well, as there is no place in Dale that will currently hold so great a treasure I ask you to keep it safe for us in Erebor."

Kili nodded, "Agreed. And it will, of course, gather interest while it waits there."

Thranduil enjoyed watching the growing red in Dain's face, clashing horrible with the dwarf's hair. With Kili handing over the one thing Thranduil had wanted, the elf king was merely staying seated for the entertainment. He was also interested in the terms Prince Kili and Lord Bard agreed to, having such knowledge was important if the alliance between all three was going to work.

The rest of the meeting passed fairly quickly, with Bard and Kili writing up agreements and Thranduil interjecting with advice. Every time he spoke, Thranduil could see a vein throb in Dain's forehead and hiding a smirk took a great deal of control. The treaties at last finalized and signed, the three monarchs broke for the noon meal.

Thranduil could tell that Kili was glad to retreat to his tent, limp too noticeable for the elf king's liking. Healers had said the limp was permanent now, the wound having mended wrong around the damage that kept happening to it. Prince Kili would never go hunting again, unless he could stay on a pony the entire time. Still, the young dwarf had the use of his arms and was strong enough to string a bow so there would be objections from his people on being able to rule.

Thranduil knew how dwarves prized fitness and strength in their leaders; a cripple becoming a king was practically unheard of in any race. However, Kili was not a cripple, he could still walk, and he shown his cousin Dain that he could stand on his own feet in any situation. Young and inexperienced he might be, but Kili was not fool and Thranduil saw the makings of a fine king within him.

"King Thranduil," the elf king turned to see Lord Bard walking towards him, the Man was alone, as Bain had gone to find his sisters.

"Ah, Lord Bard," Thranduil smiled, "have you come to claim the audience you requested two days ago? I must admit, I am intrigued on what further we have to speak about." To his credit, Bard did not squirm or shift awkwardly, but his eyes did betray his nervousness. "Come, the noon meal is being served in my tent and I have no desire to eat alone as Tauriel already told me she promised to share the meal with your children."

"Oh," Bard looked uncertain for a moment, before nodding his head and falling in step with the elf king, "I would gladly share the noon meal with you then, King Thranduil, and speak with you as I requested."

The elf king smiled, "Very well then."

**AN: Next chapter might be the last, we'll see how it goes.**


	21. Chapter 21

**FD: Thanks for the review, sorry for the cliffhanger but hey, here's the next chapter so you should be happy, right?**

{_Bard_}

Sitting down at the table in King Thranduil's tent was almost overwhelming. The meal was nothing splendorous, some meats and cheese with bread and wine, and the elf king was a thoughtful host, but Bard was not at ease. He had seen how much Thranduil cared for his children and if the parting of his son could effect so obviously then how would he react when Bard made his intentions towards Tauriel known.

"King Thranduil—" Bard began, but the elf king raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

"So formal between friends, Lord Bard?"

"I must be."

Thranduil nodded his head in acquiesce, "Very well."

Bard continued, worried that if he stopped he might lose courage. "What I have to speak about concerns your daughter Captain Tauriel."  
Both of Thranduil's eyebrows went up this time, before his gaze sharpened on Bard, "Indeed?"

"Yes. When I first met your daughter I was struck by her beauty and intrigued at seeing a she-elf among your captains. Still, I did not speak with her much and it was actually my daughters who told me more about her. Learning of how she escorted them out of Lake-town and tended to them while Bain and I recovered from our wounds, I wanted to see her again but only to thank her for her kindness. It was not until I saw her continued care towards my children that I began to think about her more. You see, since my wife's passing there have been several women who have shown kindness and attention to my children to draw me to them, but since I had to work long hours to provide for all four of us there was not much time for courting and soon I could only find elderly or already married women to look after my children while I left. Tauriel spent time with my children without looking once in my direction and I had to acknowledge that she did so because she truly enjoyed their company. I do not say such things to insult her," Bard rushed forward to explain, the look on Thranduil's face making this necessary, "I only wish to for you to understand what drew me towards your daughter. I know it has only been a few days, but I feel in my heart and mind that Tauriel would be the light needed in my house, for my children as well as me. What I feel for her is different from how I felt for my wife. I looked upon Mariah in youthful love, swept up in the height of a summer breeze and we had several happy years together." Bard did not know that his feelings were reflected upon his face, and that Thranduil was looking at him in pained sympathy, remembering as well the memories of his own wife. "I am older now, and find myself thinking in more practical terms than in fancy, and I see in your daughter what my children are missing. I deluded myself into thinking I could be bother mother and father to them, but Sigrid will soon be a woman grown and even Bain needs a gentler touch than mine. And Tilda, she has no memories of her mother as the elder two do and she does not know what she is missing but I know and that makes it all the harder.

Bard fiddled with his wine glass but did not drink, "Did you know my children have been having nightmares? Not every night, and all of three every time, but Tilda has been suffering the worst. It is only when Tauriel sings her to sleep that my youngest gets any peaceful rest at all. I want to do what is best for my children, but for my own happiness as well. I know we are entering winter, and the snows will make it difficult, but I ask your permission to court your daughter."

Bard dared to look at the elf king, and was surprised he was not yet being shouted at for wanting to not only court an elf, but also the daughter of the king. Thranduil looked at him, and the Lord of Dale met those icy blue eyes that, for once, were not so cold or standoffish.

"You have my permission, Lord Bard."

Time had ticked by before the King of Mirkwood had spoken, and when he did Bard needed a few moments to comprehend what Thranduil had said.

"I—"  
"Of course the snows will make it hard for you to visit Mirkwood, but I see no reason for Tauriel not to accompany the messengers and supplies I will send throughout the winter. Know that I have found you a very honorable Man, uncorrupted by greed or power, and so I know I can trust my daughter's honor in your hands." A smirk graced the elf's face when Bard's face reddened, "Now, let us not let this meal go to waste."  
Bard found he could eat after that, and the wine helped settle his stomach. Despite his words to Thranduil earlier about thinking more practically, Bard found himself feeling a little giddy and eager to tell Tauriel about her father's blessing.

{_Thranduil_}

_You are going soft_. The elf king admonished himself, watching Lord Bard lead his daughter away while the children clamored around him. He had followed the Man back to his house and had seen Tauriel's enquiring look when they entered. His plans to make Bard sweat before giving his permission had been abandoned when the Lord of Dale had mentioned the nightmares his children suffered from.

Thranduil remembered all too well about the terrible dreams that had haunted Legolas and Tauriel when they were small. Being a father, he could not jest or make light of a child's suffering. So, upon gathering the three children around the table, Thranduil sat down on a wobbly chair and set about doing what he could to ease the minds of Bard's offspring.

He had them gather soft pieces of wool, cloth, ribbons and small sticks. Together, he showed them how to make a talisman out of the cloth, wool and sticks. He then took the small object in his hands and breathed upon it, making it glow before tying a ribbon to it and securing it around their necks.

He smiled at them, their awe and wonder as they each held their talisman clearly written on their faces. Little Tilda's mouth was hanging open as she ran her fingers over the charm, the dark shadows under her eyes already seeming to fade.

"Hold these close at night," he instructed, after making sure they were all looking at him, "and they will keep most bad dreams away." He tapped Tilda's nose, smiling at her, "And if a nightmare should try to slip in, you tell it that the King of Mirkwood is your friend and he will destroy anything that tries to frighten you."

Tilda hugged him then, her little arms holding a surprising amount of strength as they wrapped around his neck. Sigrid and Bain whispered their thanks, their age making them more self-conscious of the situation but Thranduil was not offended. He knew both Legolas and Tauriel still wore their talisman, carefully kept hidden under their clothes of course. He knew this because he had put his magic in the charms, and so knew, just like he would know with Bard's children, when bad dreams assailed their minds. Just like he did with his own children, Thranduil would now be able to soothe Sigrid, Bain and Tilda when the talisman alerted him, and they would be able to sleep peacefully.

That night the elf king's tent rang with laughter, and was quite full as Bard and his children joined Thranduil and Tauriel for the evening meal. Thranduil had not expected to be laughing at all on the day Legolas had left, but he found himself smiling at the antics of the three youngest members, as well as the looks his daughter and the Lord of Dale traded back and forth. Bard might not think he loved Tauriel just yet, but their attachment was forming.

Tilda was trying very hard to do a spoon trick one of the dwarves had showed her, and while Bard admonished her for not behaving at the king's table still everyone smiled as she became adorably frustrated with each fail. She tried to solicit King Thranduil's help much to his horror, but a laughing Tauriel rescued her father. Bain, whose hands had healed with very little scarring, was looking forward to learning how to shoot a bow in the spring, Bard having been unable to teach him while the Master was watching. Sigrid expressed a desire to learn how to sew like the elves did, and Thranduil promised to find an elf-maid willing to teach her upon his return to Mirkwood. All three children had been beyond excited when Bard informed them he would be courting Tauriel

Sleepy eyed, the children bade goodnight and Bard walked them home. Tauriel sang a little over each of them as she kissed them goodnight, and Thranduil reminded them to hold their talisman close while they slept. The tent became quiet, and the elf king held his daughter for a brief moment before wishing her a peaceful rest.

Thranduil stayed up for a few hours, just to make sure, but he concluded the full day and joyous activities and no doubt wearied the children too greatly for bad dreads to disturb them.

The next day the elves packed up their things for departure. A few healers would stay, to mind the wounded and teach those willing to learn about the healing craft. Thranduil also left behind a contingent of warriors and one of his captains, for until it became too cold the men could train outside and learn their weapons skill greater.

Bard's children bade them goodbye at the gate, little Tilda the only one not able to hide her tears and Thranduil brushed then gently away. "I will miss you, grandpapa."

Thranduil heard Bard cough and the elves behind him muffle their laughter, but his own heart was warmed by the title. Winking at the girl, the elf king touched the talisman, "I am not far away, Tilda, and when you hold this think of me and I will be with you."

Mounting their horses, Thranduil was not surprised to see Bard riding beside Tauriel, and he motioned them to ride in front. Looking at him apprehensively they obeyed, and the elf king bade the minstrel beside him to start playing.

"_Whistle my love, and I will come to thee, I'll always find you, No matter where you may be._

_Whistle my love, I'll hear you calling me, High on a hilltop, or under a greenwood tree_."

With smiles upon their faces, the elves rode out of Dale towards the road that would lead them to Mirkwood. Bard and Tauriel rode in front; their red faces a source of amusement to Thranduil and his warriors. They smiled at one another, as if to say, "What can we do? He's a king_". _Bard was tempted to send a glare in Thranduil's direction, but the elf's high status made him think better of that action.

The minstrel continued to pluck away at his instrument,

_"Whistle the song I sang to you when our love was gay, and every woodland breeze that blows will bring it my way_."

The procession reached the summit out of the valley and Bard pulled aside, Tauriel did as well so the Lord of Dale could take her hand and kiss it. Thranduil and the minstrel paused as well, the king indicating to one of his captains to continue on. The King of Mirkwood watched the player's nimble fingers on the strings, trying to give some semblance of privacy to Tauriel as she and Bard spoke. When they finished, the Man gave Thranduil a respectful nod that the elf king returned before turning his horse to rejoin his people.

"_Whistle my love, and I will come to thee, I'll always find you, no matter where you may be_."

_Whistle my love, I'll hear you calling me, High on a hilltop, or under a greenwood tree_. "

Bard watched the elves disappear into the forest, his heart already beginning to ache at the miles that separated him and Tauriel. Clicking his tongue at the horse he rode, admonishing himself as well, the Lord of Dale turned to ride back to the city. He could see his children were still standing by the gate, waiting for his return and he smiled with a light heart. The days of winter usually passed so slowly, but this time Bard would have much to occupy himself in order to prepare for spring, and so the cold season might not be as dark this year around as in years before.

"_I'll always find you, no matter where you may be, I'll always find you, no matter where you may be_."*

**AN: THE END! Please review. Sorry I couldn't get another Kili POV in there, but it wouldn't fit.**

***Song by Elton Hayes "Whistle My Love"**


End file.
